


The Little Prince

by PBWritesStuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Actually just about everybody is good, And Severus is the Indian Gentleman, Good Slytherins, I've been told this fic is warm and comforting and that was exactly what I was going for, Multi, POC Harry Potter, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Ritual Magic, Seer Luna Lovegood, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Specifically his godparent, The Malfoys are the Large Family, Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter), Wizarding views on LGBT subjects, a little princess au, it's a whole big rewrite, mostly this is a low-drama au, original Hogwarts classes and electives, seriously, there are fewer life threatening situations and more school tropes, this fic is a monster, updates on Fridays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:33:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 52,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBWritesStuff/pseuds/PBWritesStuff
Summary: Harry Potter is famous, powerful, and one of the richest children in the wizarding world. Despite this, he's forced to live like a servant with his muggle relatives, a prince in rags.Thanks to his mother's family magic, and his friends Hermione and Draco, Harry Potter is about to be rescued by his mysterious godfather - drawn back into the world of riches, intrigue, and magic, that Albus Dumbledore tried so hard to keep him away from. His discovery is just the beginning.Enter the Little Prince.(Harry/Draco/Hermione, A Little Princess AU)
Relationships: Harry Potter & Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger & Luna Lovegood, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 145
Kudos: 244





	1. Prologue

When Lily Evans was nine years old, her best friend Severus showed her his 'secret talent'. He focused hard, nibbling on his bottom lip, and it distracted her attention from the old yellowing bruise on his cheekbone that she was trying very hard not to stare impolitely at. He waved around the odd little stick he sometimes carried, and the songbird in the tree above them fluttered down below to the two children. It perched upon Severus' outstretched finger, and began to sing a beautiful song, the likes of which a bird couldn't usually sing.  
  
Ever since they'd realized earlier in the year that Lily was a witch, just like Sev was a wizard, he'd been showing and teaching her things, and telling her everything he could about the magical world.   
  
_(Finally, an explanation for how she tripped her snobby big sister without actually touching her, or turned a bully's hair the most awful shade of green)_  
  
But today, Severus seemed _extra_ nervous, almost guilty, like he expected her to laugh at him, or mock his amazing show, as the little bluebird was released from the spell and fluttered off into the blue sky.  
  
"That was brilliant, Sev!" Lily exclaimed, making sure to let him know she didn't think it was weird. _(And really, after everything he'd shown her, told her, what was so odd about making a bluebird sing?)_  
  
He breathed out, the tension leaving his shoulders, and smiled shyly.  
  
"My mother told me recently, that the Prince family magic is Mind Magic. I can do it almost instinctually now that I know how." Severus explained. Lily recalled that Prince was Sev's _Wizard Surname_ , and that was important for some reason (hence the capitalisation she always enforced in her mind).  
  
"That's nice." Lily said, as if she had a clue what he was talking about.  
  
"No, it isn't _nice_ , it's _Dark_." Severus said, in a way that Lily sensed was another capitalised word.  
  
"Dark?"  
  
" _Dark_." Severus agreed. "Prince wizards can cast off other wizards' attempts to read their minds, so no one knows their intentions. They can easily cast _the... Imperius_ curse, like I just cast upon that bird."  
  
"You cursed the bluebird?" Lily asked, and looked back to the tree, where the bird was now grooming itself quite normally.  
  
"Yes." Severus said, looking very solemn.  
  
"It seems fine to me."  
  
"But it _isn't_." The dark haired boy explained. "I forced it to come down and sing against it's will."  
  
"I don't think we bothered it too much." Lily hummed in amusement. She thought that sometimes Severus took himself entirely too seriously, and needed to breathe through his mouth more often. That was something her mother sometimes told her to do.  
  
"But we _might_ have. Maybe now that I disturbed it's schedule, that bird won't be able to find enough worms to eat to fatten itself up for winter."  
  
"Listen Sev, this Imperius -"  
  
"Shh! Not so loud!"  
  
"This _Imperius_ ," Lily whispered, "Seems like the kind of spell that could do good things _or_ bad things, like the cutting curse. It depends on _intention_."  
  
"How could taking hold of someone else's mind ever be a _good_ thing?" Severus asked in horror, as if seeing the birth of a new Grindelwald. Lily rolled her eyes.  
  
"Like in self defense. Say someone is attacking you, and you want to live." The redhead explained, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Yes. I'm following."  
  
"And you want the other person to live as well?" Lily continued.  
  
"Why would you want that?" Severus narrowed his eyes.  
  
"All kinds of reasons!" Lily explained. "Like, you want to bring them in for questioning, or you're a pacifist, or it's a friend of yours who had a mental breakdown or something. Anyway, instead of fighting back, just cast that spell, and tell them to lay off it."  
  
"While you make a good point, Lily, you're unaware of one important detail." Severus insisted. "The ministry of magic has outlawed it. In fact, use of the... _Imperius_ curse, carries a life sentence in Azkaban. It is one of only three curses considered by wizards to be _Unforgivable_."  
  
"What!?" Lily exclaimed, gripping her friend by the shoulders. He'd told her about Azkaban, the Wizarding Prison, last Halloween, and about the Dementors who would suck out all of your happiness and then your soul. "If there was even the _slightest_ chance you could get in big trouble, you shouldn't have _dared_ show me! For someone so intelligent, you can be awfully _stupid_ , Severus Snape!"  
  
"I'm not stupid!" Severus retorted, looking genuinely hurt, although he _also_ felt admittedly foolish, now that Lily had pointed it out to him.  
  
"Don't get angry just because I don't want your soul to be eaten by a Dementor." Lily huffed.   
  
A silence.   
  
If they were pettier, or more short tempered, or had more friends than just each other, they might have stomped off to be alone for a moment, but they were rather forgiving of each other's flaws, despite having vastly different personalities. They were best friends after all, and Lily thought it was a best friend's responsibility to look past a little gloominess and seriousness, and the general stupidity that _all_ boys could boast at times. She wouldn't leave Sev, even if he _wasn't_ her only link to the magical world. Sometimes, when they played together, Lily felt a tingle deep in her chest, like her entire being was a tuning fork, and she resonated to every tone of Severus' magic, like they were siblings from different wombs, like they were better together than apart, and she didn't want to lose that.  
  
"Besides. You're lucky you even _have_ family magic, even if the ministry thinks it's _Dark_." She made sure to use the emphasis, which pacified Severus a little. "I'm the first witch in my family, so my mother and father couldn't give me anything."  
  
"Well, that's not true." Severus said quietly. "When I asked my mother how a witch could be born to non-magical parents, she said that some people believe muggleborns to be the descendants of pureblood squibs, who were cast out and sent to live with muggles. If you believe that theory, you might have magical ancestors."  
  
"I don't think so." Lily said. "I come from a long line of exceedingly _average_ people."  
  
 _(It was her sister Petunia's greatest aspiration to marry a salesman or a banker, or maybe an accountant. Something upper-middle-class and altogether normal.)_  
  
"There's another theory then: All family magic must begin somewhere." Severus began, and Lily didn't quite follow. "See, Prince is an old wizarding family, but the first Prince came from somewhere, and he passed the special traits associated with his magic down to his children. So you might be the very first of the Evans family line."  
  
"Oh!" Lily exclaimed, understanding dawning like a morning after the storm. "My magical specialty - my children will have it, even after I marry and change my name?"  
  
"Well, it might be different if you marry a wizard, but my name is Snape, and I have my mother's Prince family magic. I think that your child will get a mix of the two magics. Maybe it's like hair, or eye color."  
  
(Severus didn't know that it was traditional for pureblood girls to bind their own family magic before marriage, so that only the husband's magic would pass on, or, failing that, there were rituals to specify which child received which parent's family magic, and the wizarding world had been doing it all for hundreds of years without leaving it to chance like the lottery of genetics. He was only nine, and a half-blood after all.)  
  
"I wonder what my family magic is..."  
  


* * *

  
When Lily Evans was ten years old, she happened to be playing pretend one day, and cast a shield around herself using a circle of stones and a drop of blood, instead of the spell Severus had told her. If pressed, she honestly couldn't remember the word he'd used, even if her life depended on it, and Petunia was extremely dismayed when she tried to throw dirt clods at her sister, and they slid right off of an invisible shield, a good foot away. It scared her to see it, in fact, and when she tried to tell her mother and father, they refused to believe that perfect, quiet little Lily would ever do something so strange or abnormal.  
  
(Though they admittedly changed their minds once the Hogwarts letter arrived in the mail.)  
  


* * *

  
When Lily Evans was eleven years old, she put the sorting hat on her head, and it let out an exclamation of excitement.  
  
"Oh my! I haven't seen someone with such an affinity for ritual magic in a good decade or so!" The hat said, and Lily sensed that it was viewing the memory of last summer, when she'd discovered all the things she could do with a little drip of her blood, after the incident with her sister.  
  
"You'd fit right in with Slytherin, my dear, had you been born a generation earlier. They know an awful lot about ritual magic that can't be found anywhere else, seeing as it's somewhat forbidden." The hat added.  
  
That intrigued her. 'Somewhat forbidden' implied that her magic - _Evans Magic_ \- was _Dark_ , like Prince magic. Perhaps she could convince the hat to put her with Sev. Ever since she was nine and disheveled little Severus Snape had made a bluebird sing for her, she'd been dying to know about family magic, and _hers_ , especially.  
  
"My friend Severus wants to be in Slytherin. He says it's the best house for clever people like us." Lily replied mentally.  
  
"Yes, you could be anything but a Hufflepuff really, Miss Evans. Much too stubborn and argumentative for that house, but you've got a love for learning that could really be at home with the eagles of Ravenclaw." The hat mused, apparently trying to distract her, though she didn't know why.  
  
"Sev told me about the riddles on the door. It sounds like a pain." She said, not to be distracted.  
  
"Listen, Miss Evans. If this was any other era, I would happily put you in Slytherin." The hat explained, dropping all pretense of the happy, meandering tone of voice. "But there is a war coming, and that house is not a safe place for a muggleborn, such as yourself."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No matter _how_ dark your family magic may be." The hat insisted.   
  
(He did not emphasize the word as Severus did)  
  
"And _in fact_ , a brash, stubborn student," the hat began again, and Lily got the desire to bury her head in her hands. "Who is _brave_ enough to face great danger and insurmountable odds, just to learn about her family magic, and to show her _loyalty_ to her friend, has no better home than..."  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!"  
  


* * *

  
At age twelve, Lily moved past being mere dorm mates and classmates with Alice Jenkins, and she became Lily's first female friend. Alice was a good pureblood girl from a light family, and her mother's sister was the Minister for Magic, Eugenia Jenkins. Alice taught Lily about what it was like to grow up in a wizarding family, and Lily told Alice funny stories about Petunia (and also about what it was like to be the only one in her family who was a witch.) Alice had a wicked crush on their housemate Franklin Longbottom, who was a whiz at DADA, almost as good as Alice was in the greenhouse.  
  
He was also dense as a rock.  
  


* * *

  
At age fourteen, Lily Evans very nearly lived in the library. Here, she read of the first reference to Herpo the Foul, and how he had cheated death, though the book gave few details. Somehow, this made her magic tingle a little, like a feeling of anticipation. She filed it away to think about later, and then promptly forgot about it for many years once Alice and Frank arrived with cookies they'd gotten from the castle elves.  
  


* * *

  
At age fifteen, Lily Evans stood up for her childhood friend, and he called her a mudblood because he was embarrassed. She'd been slipping apart from Severus, against her will, and she heard what his dorm mates whispered behind her back, and she heard his pathetic attempts to change the subject rather than stand up for her. Her magic felt like a burned leaf, singed along the edges, and it ached like part of her was missing. Didn't he feel it too?  
  
Instead of slapping him, or stomping away, or dealing with it like any other Gryffindor would, she decided to prove the sorting hat wrong, and handle this like a Slytherin. She smirked at the classmates he hung around with nowadays, blood purists and future death eaters, and though she knew why the hat didn't put her there, it didn't make it hurt any less, nor did it make the pain of her breaking heart go away.  
  
"I may have muggle parents, you poor excuse for a wizard, Severus _Snape_ ," She began, putting emphasis on his _muggle_ surname. "But _you_ are the child of a disowned witch and an abusive, poor, magic hating muggle, so you can stop _pretending to be a pureblood when I'm not around!_ "  
  
Gasps all around, as (just as she'd suspected) Severus had been using his _usually_ good manners and mother's stories about the wizarding world to masquerade as a sheltered pureblood instead of the half-blood from a poor muggle neighborhood that he was. He couldn't even deny it, as Avery suddenly spoke up, saying:  
  
"I recall my mother making such a _fuss_ when it came out that Eileen Prince had been disowned for eloping with a muggle. Was that _your_ mother, Sev?"  
  
"I heard she used a love potion on the poor man." Someone added from within the gathered crowd.  
  
"Didn't need to." Mulciber replied, with an expression of contempt. "Everyone knows the Prince family specializes in _mind magic_."  
  
He'd stood outside Gryffindor tower for an hour and a half, apologizing. She finally cooled down enough to let him in, and accept his apology.  
  
And after that, it was just like being kids again, where they were the only friend each other had. But this time, she introduced him to Alice Jenkins and Frank Longbottom, the two mild-mannered and kind-hearted Gryffindors she'd befriended, and took him under her wing. She taught him about friendship, the way he once taught her about the wizarding world, and together they studied for their owls.  
  


* * *

  
When she was sixteen years old, Lily Evans got a love letter from James Potter. Along with Sirius Black, he was the biggest playboy in Gryffindor, so she didn't take it very seriously at first. She'd thought it was a joke, or a dare, so she incinerated it at breakfast, glaring at James from across the Gryffindor table.  
  
Severus scoffed at it, while Alice cooed at how romantic it was, and Frank asked "Really? Girls _like_ that sort of thing?" In a way that sounded less like sarcasm and more like honest research. He was pretty hopeless, Lily thought.  
  
That year, things between them finally came to a head, and Severus challenged James to a duel - no more tricks and sneak attacks and ambushes. Lily's acceptance, and his new Gryffindor friends had given him the courage to stand up to his tormentors, and demand... Well, if not _respect_ , than at least a solid non-interference policy. By the end of the duel, they were both sweating, nearing magical exhaustion, and James finally confessed that he had only singled out Severus because he had a crush on Lily, and her childhood friend was the only real competition in his way.  
  
"I prefer _wizards_ , you _imbecile_. If that was your only reason to make my life a living hell, you must _really_ reexamine your priorities." Snape snapped, his dark hair flying, with enough righteous indignation that even James was taken aback by it. It wasn't _entirely_ true - Severus might one day be attracted to a witch after all, though he had as yet only been attracted to wizards - but close enough to the truth to get Potter the idiot off his back. He loved Lily as a sister, and if she liked James in return, he would be happy for her, despite the fact that their offspring would likely be the _epitome_ of a _dunderhead_.   
  
Honestly. Any offspring of James Potter would be too _stupid_ to live, but... Severus would love them, because Lily had made them too.  
  
James Potter, for the first time in his life, began to really _think_.  
  


* * *

  
At the age of seventeen, war was on the horizon for Lily Evans, and she was thinking about the future, about protecting herself and her family and friends. She convinced Severus (after much begging and pleading) to smuggle her some books from the Slytherin Library, because she was Head Girl this year, and not even the restricted section had the help she was looking for.   
  
(Sharing quarters with Head Boy James Potter was so difficult - he was charming and polite to her, but she   
couldn't let him see her research, and his magic resonated with hers in way that was so _completely_ , utterly blissful, but _different_ than the harmony she had with Severus.)  
  
Her parents died in a car crash that year, and she got time away from school to go to the funeral. Petunia secretly blamed her for it, of course, and the incident would later be warped, and used to explain to Harry Potter how his parents had died. It was, in her mind, just an example of how freakishness attracts disaster.  
  
Severus swore to her that year, that he wouldn't join the Death Eaters, despite the peer pressure from his mentor Lucius Malfoy, who had already graduated, and Narcissa Black, who had remained friends with Severus for the two years of school she had left with him after the facts of his birth became common knowledge. He would have to choose sides eventually, but would Lucius and Narcissa choose Voldemort, or him? And until then, he would remain their friend, despite Lily's suspicion of them.  
  
He wouldn't join the Order of the Phoenix with her either, but she didn't blame him for that, the way she might have blamed him if they hadn't made up. It didn't matter which side you were on - when an Avada Kadavra hit you, or a building fell down around your head, you would die, no matter the color of your magic or the purity of your blood.  
  
(And she was suddenly reminded of a nine year old Severus, too solemn for his years, who was telling her his magic was _Dark_ , and the hat, who told her that her magic was _dark enough to put her in Slytherin_ , and Albus Dumbledore, who looked at her so oddly sometimes, like he couldn't figure out how she ticked, and made her brain _itch_ when she met his eyes for more than a second.)  
  
No, it didn't matter _which_ side you were on. Being a part of this generation meant leaving Hogwarts and waiting to die, and it was part of why she kissed James Potter atop the Astronomy Tower on the night she returned from her parents' funeral. If she didn't kiss him now, and Voldemort attacked tomorrow, she might never get the chance, and it terrified her that she might die without ever telling him that spending the year as Head Boy and Head Girl had solidified her growing affection for him.  
  
She was afraid to die without telling him she was in love with him.  
  


* * *

  
When Lily Evans was eighteen years old, her sister fulfilled her greatest dream, and married Vernon Dursley, a man who sold drills, or something.  
  
It was so very odd to go back to the muggle world, where there was no war going on, and there was no work to be done, and James and Frank weren't going through auror training so they could run out and get killed by the Dark Lord. There was no waiting with bated breath for the next terrorist attack, and no need for Constant Vigilance, as Moody kept reminding them.  
  
She brought along James as her date, and Sirius, because he invited himself, as he often did. He was sometimes attached to James at the hip, and Lily knew that marrying Lord Potter also meant having to deal with his tag-along puppy.   
  
He was James' soul sibling as much as Severus was hers.  
  
Sirius had too much to drink of course, mistakenly thinking that muggle alcohol was weak enough for him to handle more of, and Petunia sneered at her date and her date's friend, and started telling the story of how Lily had once made a blood protection circle in the back garden as a child. Wisely, when the story began, James cast a silencing charm around the table so that no one around them would be breaking the statute of secrecy.  
  
"That's... That's so..." James began when the story was over, turning red around the tips of his ears. "That's _brilliant_ , Lils! You always were a prodigy, huh?"  
  
She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the genuine love and acceptance in his eyes, and Sirius coughed.  
  
"It's quite _Dark_ , you know." The dog animagus said, running a finger around the rim of his champagne flute. Coming from such a dark family, and having such a bad experience with the whole lot, had made him rather bitter.  
  
"Now, lay off my fiancee, Sirius." James said, in a voice that held no fire. He was being indulgent to his drunk friend. "She was only what - ten at the time? Didn't even know about magic yet."  
  
"And even if the ministry forbids it, you can't change your family magic." Lily added, a little irritable. She wanted to remind Sirius that it was only dark because the ministry _said_ it was dark, and who ran the ministry now, but one of You-Know-Who's puppets? How could a childish game where no one got hurt (except for an accidental finger prick) be considered _dark magic_?  
  
The table went silent then, staring at her. Even James.  
  
"Do _not_. Associate this _family._ With your - your _freakishness_!" Petunia screeched, and James thanked Merlin he'd remembered to put up the silencing charm.  
  
"Lily, _darling_ , muggleborns don't _have_ family magic." Sirius said in a low drawl. "Family magic is built up over generations of wizard interbreeding. It doesn't show up overnight."  
  
Lily wanted to scream that her talent hadn't just shown up overnight. She'd showed a natural aptitude as a child, and then built on it and learned and grown, but that would mean admitting she had been practicing illegal ritual magic, which _might_ not go over well with her auror boyfriend.  
  
"And I mean, I know you're real sensitive about _the muggleborn thing_ , and I'm not like _Malfoy_ , saying you're descended from some abandoned Prewitt squib or some bollocks. But this is the one area where muggleborn witches and wizards are truly at a dis- dis- are _worse_ , y'know?"  
  
His fiancee was shaking with anger, James noticed, and despite common assumption, he had _really, truly_ matured since his Marauder years. Recalling how Lily had almost broken off her relationship with her best friend of _many years_ because of "the muggleborn thing", he wisely chose his future wife over his drunken friend, even though he didn't necessarily agree with his girlfriend on this.   
  
It was the first of many compromises, and James caught on quickly to the first rule of any traditional heterosexual relationship: even if she's wrong, she's always right.  
  
"Oh, I know." Lily said quietly, in a voice that was simmering in silent rage. Vernon _trembled_.  
  
"That's good then -" Sirius replied, and was cut off, because Lily wasn't finished.  
  
"What I know is _this_ , Sirius Orion Black: you are a self-centered, weak-minded little man, and so focused on defying your parents that you can't even think for yourself, and latch onto James or Remus for guidance." She still had her wand tucked into her bun, for she didn't have need of it to intimidate Sirius. He was putty. "Well _you_ listen to _me_ , Sirius Black. Just _see_ if you get to be godfather to my child."  
  
Because, they'd talked about it a lot, among their circle of friends. Even though there was a war going on, Lily Evans wanted nothing in her life more than a son. Obviously, his godmother would be Alice Jenkins, and Sirius (who swore to never have children of his own) seemed happy to be offered a secondary place as James's best friend. Now, they dragged his drunken arse away from the party and made sure he didn't splinch himself on the way to his apartment.  
  
James tried to argue it afterward.  
  
"You know it's traditional for the wife's friend and the husband's friend to be godparents. We can't have two of the bride's friends! I mean, we can, but it isn't _traditional_."  
  
James didn't care a whit for tradition, and his father wouldn't force it on him, because James himself was the product of a non-traditional marriage between a British wizard, and a witch from India. He was only arguing this because Sirius was his best friend in the whole world, and he'd very much wanted to be godfather.  
  
"I'm not changing my mind, James." Lily retorted. "Honestly. What is a godparent supposed to do?"  
  
"Well, in the _old_ days, they were called _gods_ parents, and they were supposed to bring up a child in the ways of the old gods if his parents died." James scoffed. "These days, it's mostly a way to say who the kid's parents want to raise him, if... If anything happened."  
  
"We live on the front lines of a war." The woman replied seriously. "If anything happened to us, do you honestly think Sirius would be fit to raise a child?"  
  
"... _No_." James pouted.  
  
"Aside from Frank, who would you choose from our friends to raise our theoretical child?" He thought for a moment, and Lily looked at him with a raised eyebrow, adding: "Which of our _non-werewolf_ friends."  
  
"... _Severus_..." James pouted again. Then he set his chin. "Why can't Frank be godfather?"  
  
"Frank is your auror partner, doofus. I'm not keen on putting all our eggs in one basket." She sighed. "You have to face facts. Frank is just as at risk as you, James. As a Slytherin neutral party, Severus is simply the most likely of all of us to survive."  
  


* * *

  
At the tender age of nineteen, Lily Evans had her own wedding, and she'd forgiven Sirius enough to let him be the best man (but she still wouldn't let him be godfather). Alice Jenkins was her maid of honor, and her own wedding to Frank Longbottom was arranged for just a week away.  
  
Petunia Evans (now Petunia _Dursley_ ), didn't return the favor. She stated over the phone that her husband disliked James Potter (which was silly, because _Sirius_ was the one who got drunk and started a fight, and Lily wondered if maybe her brother-in-law was a bit dull and had gotten them confused.)  
  
They danced all night, and it was the fairytale wedding she always wanted, to the prince who'd shown her he could grow up, and swept her off her feet. She had never been more happy in her entire life, and she danced once with Severus, without a single sneer being shot from either direction to, or from, James Potter.  
  
"So Alice and Frank are getting married in a week. Any plans for you, Sev?" She asked as they stepped together, moving as one along the dance floor in the ballroom of Potter Manor.  
  
"No." He scoffed. But she saw his eyes wander, and she saw Sirius Black in the background, tipsy, and flirting with anything that was breathing, including the house elves, who seemed flustered and confused by the attention.  
  
"He's a very attractive wizard."  
  
"He's a proper git." Severus retorted with a scowl. "I'm only staring at him because it's impossible not to. He's a train wreck."  
  
"James didn't settle down until he decided to woo me. Maybe Sirius just needs a firm hand to show him it's time to grow up." Lily replied.  
  
"If I wanted a _child_ to watch over, I would work at a _daycare_." Severus retorted again, before changing the subject. "Have you found everything you wished for, Lily?" The dark haired Slytherin asked, as he spun her in the waltz.  
  
"I am now lacking in only three wishes, Severus Snape." She said, and from her lips, it didn't sound quite like a curse of his birthright.  
  
"A child, a godfather, and the means to protect him. Will you be my child's godfather, Sev? And will you help me do what needs done to protect him?"  
  
"Always." Severus replied.  
  
And they snuck out the next morning, while James was sleeping off his hangover.   
  
Somehow (a witch's intuition), Lily knew that she'd accomplished the first of her goals on her wedding night.  
  


* * *

  
When she was twenty years old, Lily Evans (now Lily Potter) gave birth to a little boy, who looked just like James Potter, but with green eyes that looked just like hers. Because James Potter did not believe that muggleborns had family magic, he didn't make Lily bind her family magic before the ceremony, like Potter brides down the centuries had. Because Lily did not perform a ritual, to ensure that Harry had magic from one or the other, he ended up with a random mix of both, just as Severus had predicted, although that wouldn't be realized until much, much later.  
  
In his crib, Lily placed a story book; Tales of Beedle The Bard. She'd written and illustrated this version herself, and added a few extra tales of her own, stories about his parents and their friends, and how to survive in the world of pureblood aristocracy. She hoped to read it to him one day, but prepared for the worst. If one day, Severus or Alice was reading it to him, little Harry would still have a piece of her with him.  
  
Literally.  
  
She'd been _thinking_ lately. Thinking about the war, and about family magic, and blood rituals, and about her growing belief that no magic was _Dark_ , that it was all about intention. In the year leading up to her wedding, she had recalled Herpo The Foul, the book she had read about him in fourth year, and how he had cheated death by placing a piece of his soul in an object. She had then spent months crafting her object, her personalized copy of Beedle The Bard.  
  
Then, on the morning after the celebrations, when no one noticed, she and Severus snuck out alone, and tracked down Antonin Dolohov, one of the Death Eaters who'd killed Molly Weasley's brothers. They took him by surprise, and without the power in numbers that the Death Eaters used to kill people, it wasn't hard to take him down.  
  
Then Lily split her very soul, and placed part of it in her future son's storybook.  
  
The storybook that Harry Potter now held in tiny hands as he slept in his crib, a blanket with embroidered broomsticks over his sleeping form. He gnawed on it a little bit, and tugged at the pictures happily, and James was suitably impressed.  
  
"I can't believe a _baby_ can play with that book and not break it. Have I mentioned lately that you're a genius, Lils?"  
  
"You could _stand_ to mention it more often. The only things I know of that can kill _that_ book are fiendfyre and basilisk venom. Harry hasn't a chance."  
  


* * *

  
October 31st, 1981. Lily Potter had just gotten a cat. It was technically a kneazel mix, but most muggleborns in the wizarding world called them cats anyway. It was a surly yellow thing, with a squished face, and a lashing tail, and it patrolled the house at Godric's Hollow like a man possessed, which was part of why Lily got it. She was growing increasingly paranoid, and kneazels were said to be able to detect unscrupulous people.  
  
 _(Few people visited its masters, and the Potter Kneazel appreciated that. Few visitors meant less danger. It liked the dark cloaked man who only wore black, and made his mistress smile. The old white bearded one seemed well intentioned, and not immediately dangerous, so the kneazel left him be. But one visitor the Potter Kneazel could not abide, was the rat.)_  
  
"I'm so sorry!" Lily exclaimed as she pulled her screeching cat off of a bleeding and equally loud Peter Pettigrew. "I don't know what got into him!"  
  
"Hehe, maybe he knows what you _really_ are, Wormtail!" James called from the kitchen, and Pettigrew's face hardened.  
  
"You know what? I wanted to come say I'm sorry for what's about to happen, but I'm really not." He turned on his heel and walked towards the door. "Go to hell, James Potter!"  
  
Time moved in slow motion. Lily dropped the cat, who darted for the cat door in the back. You can't bring a kneazel to a wand fight, and though it may seem cowardly, that kneazel knew it still had work to do - it needed to find the rat that had betrayed its masters.  
  
Back in the house, Lily ran for the stairs, and James waited in the living room to hold them off, as the crack of apparition began to echo off the walls and her husband's scream began almost five seconds after. She made sure Harry's book was held in his arms, shielding him. _This_ Lily Potter was not inclined to beg for her baby's life, because she knew Voldemort would not spare him - he was the only one prophesied to defeat him. She just fought back, until she could fight no more, and slumped to the ground of the nursery.  
  
And then Voldemort cast the killing curse at an infant.  
  
And Harry Potter held up his story book to meet the pretty green light.  
  
When Dumbledore arrived to Godric's Hollow, the nursery was destroyed. Little Harry lay in his crib, with the body of his mother nearby, and a little scar, which Dumbledore presumed was from the killing curse.   
  
The scar looked a bit like a lightning bolt, and a bit like the _letter_ z, and a lot like the ancient rune Eihwaz, Dumbledore thought darkly, to himself.  
  
The aged wizard picked the boy up, wrapping him in his blanket (thank goodness the brooms weren't moving), and not even noticing the book that Harry held close to his chest. When it faintly came to his attention, he felt a great compulsion that it should stay with Harry, and that it was Harry's favorite, and _no matter what happened_ , he ought not to be separated from it. Dumbledore was greatly distraught, and he didn't think this unusual in any way, so the book stayed with Harry.  
  
At age twenty-one, Lily Evans died a hero. She was called Lily Potter now, but _Evans_ family magic had saved her son's life. Harry was known as the Boy-Who-Lived, but all he had done was hold a book that his mum had given him. Lily Potter should have been known to the entire wizarding world as the Witch-Who-Died, but to do that, would mean acknowledging that she had used the blackest of dark magic, and the savior of the wizarding world wasn't allowed to be a muggleborn dark witch.  
  
So Severus Snape kept his mouth shut, and Lily Evans died a hero.


	2. Chapter 2

**Arc One: The Little Prince**

Harry Potter was seven years old when he first discovered magic was real.

He was an orphan, and had been left on his Aunt and Uncle's doorstep, one cold November morning, with nothing but a blanket and a handwritten storybook that told of wizards and magic. His blanket had brooms and clouds on it, which seemed like an odd combination, and he never figured out exactly why someone would put cleaning supplies on a baby's blanket, but he liked it because it had been given to him by his parents.  
  
He lived in a cupboard under the stairs, with the spiders, because his Aunt was embarrassed by him, but he didn't mind so much, because he got to be alone and read his storybook, which seemed to show him more and more each time he read it, and never showed signs of wear. Babbity Rabbity and Sir Luckless, and the other fantastical characters were his only friends and most loyal company.   
  
He was made to do chores every day, and his cousin Dudley was not. It was unfair, but Harry was good at doing chores, and he knew it could be worse. At least his Aunt and Uncle didn't physically hurt him, and even when he was sent to bed without dinner for "freakish behavior," he was allowed to eat breakfast with the family again next morning. He was also required to _cook_ for the family, but he got to eat at the table with them too, so it could be worse.  
  
(He told himself often, repeated it like a mantra. _Could be worse, could be worse, could be worse_.)  
  
Whenever he carried his book with him, his Aunt wrinkled up her nose at the handwriting, but she seemed inclined to be nicer to him, and Vernon ignored his very existence, and Dudley never bothered to harass him.  
  
 _(He couldn't have possibly known that Petunia was nicer to him and Vernon and Dudley were less horrid because of the compulsion charms his mother had woven into her horcrux.)_  
  
It was on his seventh birthday that he turned to the very back of the book, where there were several blank pages, as if whoever had written the book had needed to stop before they were finished. He'd decided to use the portion in the back of the book to keep track of the salient moments of his life, like an abbreviated journal. He kept the book with him nearly all the time, and it was like another appendage. Very carefully, he took a ball-point pen, and inscribed: Property of Harry James Potter, so that the book would be his, and no one could take it away from him. (He'd gotten the idea from Dudley, who wrote his name on _all_ of his things and then told Harry he couldn't touch them.)  
  
To his surprise, the writing disappeared. Harry looked at the pen very closely. He'd heard Dudley talk about prank pens that used disappearing ink, but this didn't seem to be one of them. He made a little mark on his thumb, and it stayed. His eyes wandered back to the page, and he brushed his fingers over the place where the words used to be, just as new ones appeared without any kind of warning.  
  
 _I am no one's property.  
_  
Shocked and confused, Harry dropped the book, and jerked backwards, slamming his cot into the wall, and making a terrible clatter that drew the attention of his Aunt.  
  
"Be quiet in there!" Petunia shouted, banging on the door to his cupboard as Harry caught his breath, and carefully examined the book from atop his cot, through the shade of falling dust and the silent horror of scattering spiders. The handwriting was the same as the rest of the book, and it comforted him. Could it be his mother's handwriting? Was he hallucinating?  
  
Carefully, Harry picked up the book, and began to write again.  
  
 _Who are you?_ He asked, in his very best handwriting, making sure not to smear the ink. He knew what response he was waiting for: could his mother still be alive, and able to take him out of this terrible place? The writing lingered for just a moment, before turning golden-brown, and fading away, along with the book's last response.  
  
 _I am the spirit of this book. It's a magic book, you see. A spell book._  
  
Harry collapsed in on himself, deflated, and stayed that way for a full ten minutes before the full implications of those words really sank in for him. He gasped softly, eyes wide. A spell book. His mother was gone, yes, but she had always been gone, and nothing had changed that. At very worst, Harry was back to square one.  
  
Except he _wasn't_ back to square one.  
  
His mother had left him a _spell book_.  
  
 _The magic that the characters can do in the stories..._ Harry asked, beginning to smile to himself. _All of it is real?  
_  
 _Most of it._ The book replied. _I can teach you to become an animal, like Babbity Rabbity, or craft a wand, like that given to the eldest brother in The Tale of The Three Brothers._  
  
 _Wasn't the wand cursed?_ Harry asked. _I'm not sure I would want an all powerful but unlucky wand._  
  
 _I meant a wand of the regular sort._ The book replied. _A wand that is neither unbeatable, nor cursed. You shall need it to practice magic._  
  
 _Okay then, tell me how to begin, please._ Harry answered.  
  
 _First, you must go to a park, and find a tree branch that makes your magic tingle...  
_

* * *

  
Harry worked hard to make his wand, just as his book instructed him. Now he understood why Petunia thought he was 'freakish'. He was different than she and Dudley and Vernon were. He would bet money that his mother and father were different too. After all, his parents had given him this book of spells as his legacy, hadn't they? And no one knew what it truly was unless they had magic. Once Harry and the Book set up a password, the Book would not write back to anyone who did not write 'Open Sesame' first. That was how the Book would know it was Harry.  
  
He'd found a very nice Holly bush in the park, and broken off a branch, before shaving off the bark. He then smoothed and filed down the edges with an emory board he'd nicked from his Aunt's bathroom, and used a long drywall screw from the toolbench in the garage to hollow out a little cavern on the inside of the stick to put his core in.  
  
The Book explained that wand cores were usually made from parts of magical animals, but Harry didn't happen to have any Dragon heartstring or Phoenix feather lying about, so it gave him a practical workaround.  
  
 _Find a bird feather - any kind will do, and cover it in your blood. This will link the wand to your magic, and make it so that the only one who can use your wand is you._  
  
 _We haven't many birds in the area. Except pigeons of course._ Harry replied to the Book. _Would cat fur work?_  
  
 _Yes. Look for a cat that is particularly large, with a long tail that has a tuft at the end._ The Book explained. _A cat like that is probably part kneazel, a type of magical familar. It will work better than a bird feather, and I ought to have thought of it first._  
  
It just so happened that the family was going out for the day next Thursday, and Harry would be left with his usual baby sitter, Arabella Figg. She was the neighborhood's resident cat lady, and had over thirty well beloved cats. Surely one of them would be a kneazel.  
  
To Harry's vast surprise, _all_ of them were kneazels. He wasn't sure what this meant for him. Could kindly, senile Ms. Figg be a witch? The Book had told Harry that most wizards and witches lived in carefully hidden enclaves, and wanted nothing to do with muggles, so it was somewhat surprising for one to be hiding in a muggle neighborhood. Harry went through the day as he usually did when forced to visit Ms. Figg, except this time, when a grumpy-looking orange cat with a scrunched up face tried to jump on his lap, he didn't try to push him off.  
  
The cat looked very pleased to see him, despite it's perpetual frown and squished face, and notched ear, so Harry petted him, and subtly collected a little twist of his fur to put in his pocket for later. He wouldn't look a gift kneazel in the mouth!  
  
Despite his good luck in finding the last ingredient for his wand, Harry was glad to get back to his cupboard, and away from the overwhelming stench of cat. Likewise, Madam Figg had noticed his book, and commented that she herself had read Beedle the Bard as a child. It had given Harry quite a shock, as he'd thought that his was the only copy in the world. He brought it up with the Book, and learned that it was actually a popular collection of fairy tales for wizarding children, and his was the only copy that was also a grimoire. (It further confirmed his theory that Ms. Figg was a witch.)  
  
The Book taught him about more than just magic, too. It gave him a list of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the 'purest' (and most stuck up) of the pureblood wizards. And although the Book impressed upon him that blood did not necessarily make a more powerful wizard _(the child of Asha the Witch and the muggle Sir Luckless from the story Fountain of Fair Fortune, for example, would be just as magical as any child born with the name of Malfoy or Longbottom)_ , it insisted that to some people, it mattered, and that it would be important to Harry to learn about pureblood politics so that he could beat them at their own game. He carefully memorized the list, just like every pureblood wizarding child in Britain.  
  
 _(Avery, Black, Bones, Burke, Bulstrode, Carrow, Crabbe, Crouch, Diggory, Dolohov, Flint, Goldstein, Goyle, Greengrass, Jenkins, Lestrange, Longbottom, McMillan, Malfoy, Montague, Mulciber, Nott, Parkinson, Potter, Prewett, Pucey, Rosier, Yaxley_ _\- even years later, he could still rattle it off by heart)_  
  
Harry was gobsmacked that his family name was on the list. His father came from an ancient wizard family, and he'd married Harry's mother, a girl who came from the same boring family as Petunia Dursley. He was a half-blood, but he was a _Sacred Twenty-Eight half-blood_ , and that made a big difference, according to Harry's book. He had wealth and power in the wizarding world, and once he re-entered it at age eleven, he would be well prepared to use it.  
  
For now, life was getting better. He'd learned a lot of household cleaning charms from his spell book, and as long as his Aunt and Uncle weren't around, he could get his chores done in half the time, and have more time to practice magic. And magic was just _wonderful_.  
  
Using the _aguamenti_ charm, he could summon water from the end of his wand and never be thirsty. Using his etching screw, a wooden box, and a set of runes provided by his book, he created a sort of fridge, where he could store food in case he was grounded without dinner. (The book said it was an _Ever-Fresh_ enchantment, very different than a muggle fridge, but it served more or less the same purpose). He was finally starting to feel like his life was turning around, at home at least. School was a different story.  
  
While Harry enjoyed school, he wasn't allowed to do _anything_ better than Dudley, especially in academics, so he often spent his days at school bored out of his mind from not trying, or hiding books under the desk. He read his storybook so often that most of the teachers thought he was slow. But now, instead of simply reading the same twelve or so stories again, he was learning all about the magical world.   
  
Because of Harry's forced underachievement, he was always placed in remedial classes with other poor students. That was why, even though they were in the same year, he had never actually met the girl with the wildly curly hair on the day Dudley decided to pick on her. As a rule, Harry didn't usually try to stick up for other people. He had enough trouble on his own trying to dodge Dudley's gang and other bullies, and the book kept them from bothering him usually, but the protection didn't extend to other people. He usually didn't bother trying to help other bullied children, because it meant more suffering for him, later on. But he sensed something of a kindred spirit in the girl, as she had been reading a book for the entire time he'd been watching her, and it practically mimicked the way that he clung to his family grimoire.  
  
"Hey, Granger! What's so good about that book that you can't look up when I'm talking to you?" Dudley growled in his child's voice, and tried to make it sound intimidating as he snatched the book out from the girl's hands, earning himself something of a death glare.  
  
"I'm sorry." The girl replied, in a tone that boded nothing but bad news for the boy who'd interrupted her reading. "But I didn't hear you talking. I thought that racket was the cry of a beached whale."  
  
Harry thought with amusement that Dudley's face couldn't possibly get any redder.  
  
"I'll teach you some _respect_ , you little brat!" The boy screamed, and rushed for the girl with the book, while she tripped backwards off her bench in the rush to get away from him. On the ground and pinned by Dudley, the poor girl was helpless, and Harry pulled his wand out, watching from the bushes as a startling crack echoed through the playground, and Dudley wailed in pain before stumbling away from the girl, clutching his arm. Granger hadn't moved a muscle, but Harry felt the flash of her magic like a single splash of color, bleeding out into a world of monotonous grey.  
  
That girl with the wild mane of curly hair was a _witch_ , and she had broken Dudley's arm just by thinking it.  
  
As Dudley wailed in pain, the other children in his little gang of miscreants seemed to decide that whatever Granger had done, it was a fluke, and they now circled in like sharks for their revenge.  
  
"She broke my arm, the little terror!" Dudley screamed, still sobbing fat tears like a baby, and the girl was backed into a corner. The situation was beginning to force Harry into action.  
  
"Don't you worry, Dursley. We'll get 'er for you." Dudley's best mate Piers Polkiss insisted, pounding his knuckles like a cartoon villain. The other boys had surrounded the Granger girl, and she was looking around with a glare, eyes darting about like a cornered animal.  
  
Pity that she didn't seem able to control her magic, Harry thought. With some training, she could be a formidable witch and a _real_ terror to these muggle kids. Since she didn't seem able to handle it on her own, Harry cast a simple charm that the book had taught him - a special _family_ version of the Levicorpus spell that hung a person upside-down from their ankle, and then he watched from the bushes as the little monsters scattered to the four winds, leaving Dudley to sob on the ground, and Piers dangling from his ankle in midair.  
  
Harry emerged from the bushes, and the girl's eyes widened in fear. Then she saw that he was alone, and unarmed, save for an odd little stick he held, and she tilted her head curiously.  
  
" _Finite incantatem_." Harry pronounced, and waved his wand at the boy dangling in the air, barely hearing his groan of pain at being dropped unceremoniously on the hard ground. Harry was too focused on the girl, and the way she made his magic ring inside of him like a bell when he met her eyes.  
  
"What _are_ you?" She whispered, with not a hint of fear, and nothing but hope in her waiting eyes.  
  
"I'm a wizard, Miss Granger." Harry replied, with a little grin. "And you, I suspect, are a witch."


	3. Chapter 3

In a quaint little dental practice in Surrey, a girl sat, nervous, and staring out of a window. She had a book in hand (her favorite, _A Little Princess_ ), but she'd read it before, and mainly had it for comfort.  
  
Today, she had gotten _In Trouble,_ and it was the very first time in Hermione Granger's life.  
  
She was utterly petrified.  
  
It wasn't her fault, really, and she'd tried to explain that to her parents, but they would have none of it, and they accused her of lying, to try and get out of her punishment. Hermione wouldn't lie! She was a perfect daughter! _Perfect_! She had never _once_ lied to her parents before, did they really have so little faith in her? Now she was stuck sitting here, waiting for them to pronounce judgement, just as soon as they were done with their current patient.  
  
She really should have expected as much. Her parents made it no secret that they hadn't expected to have a child, but they loved her, she thought, despite the accident of her birth. Circumstances being what they were though, it didn't excuse them for not believing in the existence of magic, even when so much evidence was right before their eyes. She'd been doing it since she was a baby, after all! How did they explain all the incidents of floating toys and books, or bursting lightbulbs when she cried, or how she'd broken Dudley Dursley's arm without lifting a finger?  
  
That was the current point of contention. She was in trouble for fighting in school - breaking another student's bone was a serious matter. Her parents had been called to the school for her "bullying problem" three times already this term, and it just wasn't fair! _They_ were the bullies, and Hermione was just a victim! Why should _she_ always be punished, while the _real_ culprits always got off scott free?  
  
It wasn't fair, and if it wasn't for a boy named Harry Potter, she might have lived her whole life thinking she was a _freak_.  
  
(Or at least until the Hogwart letters were sent out, but she didn't exactly know that yet.)  
  
The door to the exam rooms opened, and Mrs. Granger came out then, smiling a bit sadly, a bit tiredly, when she saw Hermione. The bushy haired girl sank deeper into her seat. Mrs. Granger was soon followed by her husband, and Hermione watched silently as the two dentists smiled and said their goodbyes to the receptionist, before they all piled into the family car and headed for home.   
  
She pouted at the window as the scenery flew by, and the leaves of the trees blended into the white houses and pristine lawns of her cookie-cutter neighborhood. The family had already arranged to sell the practice this year, and they planned to move to a new neighborhood in Crawley that seemed friendlier. They'd said that it was all to give Hermione a new start, away from her old bullies and the school and neighborhood where she hadn't made a single friend in all her eight years of life. She felt, _sensed_ rather, that there was a hidden motive for her parents, but she couldn't quite figure it out. It was just Hermione's luck that she made her very first friend right before her family moved to a different part of England, and she'd never see him again after the end of the school year.  
  
(She doubted that her parents would arrange a play-date with the odd little boy who'd saved her from Piers Polkiss with _magic_ \- something her parents didn't even _believe_ in.)  
  
A deep sigh seemed to clean out Hermione's lungs, and she felt marginally better afterwards. At home, she expected the usual questions _(accusations)_ from her parents, and she wasn't looking forward to it, the way she was looking forward to meeting Harry again tomorrow, and learning more about magic. Her parents would ask how she broke Dudley's arm (a boy who, while not athletic, was still quite a bit bigger than her). If she said it was magic (the truth), they would accuse her of lying, and give her that terrible disappointed look that made her guts twist into knots and her heart stutter. If she told them she didn't know, or couldn't remember, there was a chance they wouldn't believe her, and the same thing would happen.  
  
Sometimes, she wished that the plot of her favourite book, _A Little Princess_ would come true, and a long-lost relative or godfather would come out of the woodworks to sweep her away to a world of enchantment - a world with others like her, who were never bullied without retaliation, a world with girls who broke arms just by wishing it.  
  
"Listen," she told her parents with a sniffle as they pulled into the driveway. "I'm not asking you to not punish me, but can it wait until tomorrow?"  
  
Her parents shared a worried glance with each other, as if Hermione wouldn't notice.  
  
"I'm just really tired. I'm not even hungry enough to stay up for dinner." The girl explained, wiping her eyes. She would have added that fighting for one's life tended to do that to a person, but her parents would certainly say she was exaggerating. After all, she hadn't let them get close enough to leave bruises, and the last time she'd gotten into a fight (with a bunch of catty girls last term), the bruises had healed before she even got the chance to show them to the proper authority figures.  
  
The smallest silver lining shone through the darkness, as Hermione now knew that she wasn't simply going mad at the tender age of eight. There was a _reason_ she healed overnight and always had the right book in hand when she wanted it, _and_ _broke Dudley Dursley's arm without even trying.  
_  
She was a witch. She was a witch, a witch, a _witch_! And no punishment that her parents could inflict would be enough to dampen her spirits after learning that.  
  


* * *

  
Harry Potter was a curious child, Hermione observed, the very next day at school. They sat together at lunch and during breaks, since they didn't share classes, and they made an odd pair, with Harry and his over-large glasses and ill-fitting clothes, Hermione and her untamable hair.  
  
"So you're a witch too?" She asked in low tones, full of awe.  
  
"Technically, I'm a _wizard_." Harry replied, and he pulled out a smooth stick from his book bag. "That's what you call a male magic-user. I'm also lucky enough to come from an old wizarding family line."  
  
(He couldn't help but brag just a little bit. His whole life he'd been called nothing but a freak and a disgrace, and he wanted so badly to impress his first real friend.)  
  
Harry waved around his stick, and muttered something, and Hermione looked on as a shimmering bubble formed around them, before fading away.  
  
"There. That should keep the other children from overhearing us." Harry explained.  
  
"Did your parents teach you all of that?" Hermione asked in awe, but lost her smile when she saw the sad expression on Harry's face. She had been looking forward to grilling him about what it was like to live with parents who believed in magic, but comforting Harry was her new priority.  
  
"No." The boy replied, looking away. "My parents are dead."  
  
"Where do you live?" Hermione asked, suddenly afraid that her new best friend was living on the streets or something.  
  
"With my Aunt and Uncle. They treat me like a slave, but it could be worse, I guess."  
  
Hermione swallowed. It was just like _A Little Princess_. Harry came from a magical family, but due to circumstances out of his control, he was forced to work like a servant in a place that should have been his home. Something inside of her tingled, like waking up for the very first time.  
  
"Oh Harry." Hermione murmured, and the magic arced invisibly between them.  
  
She gave him her copy of _A Little Princess_ , and Harry copied down as much as he could from his grimoire, eventually filling up a whole notebook over the early summer months. He gave Hermione everything he knew, from how to make a wand, to basic potions, to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and the secondary list of old wizarding families; the Lesser Twenty-Eight. (The lesser Twenty-Eight that included the surname Dagworth- _Granger_ , and made Hermione's heart beat faster in her ribcage.)  
  
He told her about familiars, and spells, and the old stories that were long forgotten by the families who rejected their ritual heritage. He gave her all the primary Nordic runes and the infernal sigils, and the seals of the Elder Gods that were long forsaken by man, but who answered the calls of witches and wizards who asked politely.  
  
That summer was the best of Hermione's life, and she dreaded the coming of fall, when the Grangers would move to Crawley, where the two dentists had set up a new practice.  
  
That summer was also the best of Harry's life - he got a great idea from the book Hermione had given him, a glorious, magical idea.  
  
In A Little Princess, the poor mistreated title character finds a mysterious benefactor, who grants her gifts to make her prison-like room feel like a home. He does it all while she sleeps, or while she's away, so the little girl thinks it must be magic. Harry didn't have any mysterious benefactor, save for his grimoire, so he took matters into his own hands.  
  
A crash-course on dimensional spacial theory from his book, and the cupboard under the stairs became a roomy subterranean refuge. Harry transfigured the wall into a false door, so that the Dursleys wouldn't have any idea what had happened. His cot was transfigured into a real bed, but he kept his old blanket as a throw for over the headboard - that old broom-covered baby blanket held a lot of sentimental value for him. He made a ventilated fireplace to keep him toasty on the cold winter nights, and the book helped him with the runic arrays modern wizards used to implement indoor plumbing without pipes.  
  
Waste and water was simply vanished with the runic array, and summoned from elsewhere as needed. He transfigured his disgusting old emergency bucket into a gleaming porcelain toilet - no more waiting for Vernon to release him in the mornings - Harry could now wash up and use the bathroom all on his own!  
  
Harry didn't realize that he had an amazingly large magical core for an seven year old - and the book didn't tell him, either. He was doing newt-level transfiguration work, and he only felt the exhaustion set in after he'd already finished remodeling. Magical talent and backround aside, in some ways, Harry Potter was a very normal child. He often read back over the fairy tale stories in the book that he sometimes felt too old for, like a guilty pleasure. His favorites were the myths of the wizards, the stories that his book explained were personal additions to Beedle the Bard, not contained in any other copy.  
  
The ancient wizards worshipped three gods, two of whom were so famous that they worked their way into the mainstream stories: Death, and Magic. The third deity, Life, was lesser known, but the book mentioned to him that some believed Death's tokens in the story of Death and the Three Brothers were made by Magic, and gifted to her two lovers, to spread their magic throughout the world. Supposedly, Death gave them to the three brothers for safe keeping, and never returned for them.  
  
Harry loved the stories about Lord and Lady Death, and their consort Magic best of all, and he pored through all the information the book could give him. He wondered what had happened to those famous artifacts, and what would happen if one were to bring them all together.   
  
It was his first obsession.  
  
Meanwhile, Hermione was obsessed with another aspect of her magical awakening. She discovered that she was exceptionally good with animals, and convinced her parents to get her a part-kneazel ginger cat from the pet store. They didn't realize it was magical, and Hermione learned that she was magically stronger with the grizzled old cat around her.   
  
This was the very first glimmer of new magic at work, and the world would never be the same.


	4. Chapter 4

For Harry's tenth birthday, the book told him how to call the Knight Bus and have it take him to Diagon Alley. He drew a few stares as a small child traveling on his own, but the notice-me-not charms that were woven into the book with every physical stitch of the binding kept him safe and unnoticed.  
  
(Technically, _everyone_ noticed him, but the magic in the book convinced them that it was _normal_ for a child to be travelling the wizarding world on his own. Nothing unusual to see here. That boy may be small and have Harry Potter's famous scar, but that was someone else's problem.)  
  
He arrived with a bang in front of Gringott's bank, and strode with confidence into the doors of the massive building. The book had told him what to do, and how to do it, so he wasn't afraid to be turned away, as another child might have been. Harry walked briskly up to the tall counter, and strained his neck to meet the goblin there.  
  
"Well met, associate Griphook." Harry stated, a bit stiffly, reading the goblin's name-tag. "My name is Harry Potter, and I have business to conduct here today. Could you please direct me to my account manager?"  
  
Griphook peered down at the little human child with his uncanny eyes and his disheveled appearance. His manner of speaking was odd too, like a human trying to mimic goblin formalities, and the last person who'd spoken to him like that was a young witch named Lily Evans.  
  
"You understand, master Potter, that I shall need a sample of your blood to prove that you are who you claim to be?" Griphook explained. It wasn't standard protocol, but the boy was clearly underage, and he clearly didn't have his key.  
  
"That will be fine, Mr. Griphook." Harry nodded, and extended his hand. The book had told him this would happen, and he accepted the goblin-forged blade that the associate offered him. Pricking his thumb, he pressed a bloody print to an offered parchment, and watched as the red liquid seeped into the paper and dissolved into lines of text in a language he couldn't read.  
  
"All seems in order, Master Potter. Please follow me." Griphook nodded succinctly, and with a tap of his knife, caused the paper to shred into a million tiny pieces, which were gathered into a wastebasket and set ablaze. Goblins took security _very_ seriously here.  
  
Harry followed Griphook down a winding stone corridor, and they arrived at a conference room door.  
  
"Here is where we part ways, Master Potter. Please wait inside the meeting room while I summon your account manager, Stoneclaw."  
  
Harry nodded obediently, and sat patiently in one of the dark leather chairs arranged in front of the highly polished desk. It looked just like any other solicitor's office, aside from the goblin-forged axe hanging above the desk, but Harry had never actually been in a muggle solicitor's office before, so the effect was lost on him.  
  
The effect of the axe, however, was not lost on Stoneclaw. Usually, wizard customers who came to see him were intimidated by the obvious luxury of the place, and the blatant weaponry in every room. This young boy was simply quiet, and despite his disheveled and shabby appearance, he had a look of maturity in his eyes. He had the eyes of an old man, and Stoneclaw wondered about it.  
  
"Good morning Mr. Potter." Stoneclaw announced when he stepped into view.  
  
"Good morning sir." Harry replied, with a little nod of his head. Stoneclaw settled behind the desk, and steepled his fingers.  
  
"I must say, this is very unusual." The goblin began. "We don't often allow unaccompanied minors to visit with their family's account managers, but I decided to make an exception, because your case is a very special one."  
  
"I hope it wasn't any trouble." Harry murmured, looking very out of place and uncomfortable at the thought that he had caused a ruckus.  
  
"No, no, it isn't any trouble." Stoneclaw assured the boy, before he continued. "When your parents died, they left a will, naming whom you should be left with upon their demise."  
  
Harry grew pale at that, and shrunk down in his seat - it did not go unnoticed, but the goblin said nothing.  
  
"Unfortunately, your godmother was badly injured soon after your parents died, and was unable to take you in." Stoneclaw explained. "And as for your godfather... When the Wizengamot attempted to place you with him, the decision was overruled by the chief warlock."  
  
"What is a Wizengamot?" Harry asked cautiously. "And do I even want to know what a 'chief warlock' is for?"  
  
"All you need to know, is that the Wizengamot is the ruling body of the wizarding world. The warlock is the director of the Wizengamot." The goblin expained, and he found it somewhat hard to keep a straight face - it wasn't often that he had to explain wizarding politics to a _wizard_. Harry frowned and stroked the spine of his book. He had been told a lot about magic and heritage, but he didn't know much about how the wizarding government actually worked. One thing stood out to him though - one thing, he understood.  
  
"What was his reason for keeping me from my godfather?" Harry asked in a trembling voice. Stoneclaw glowered, not at Harry, but at the memory of being ordered not to oblige the Potters' will. It was a dark day when the Wizengamot meddled in the affairs of estates and wills.   
  
"The chief warlock made a case that you would be better off in a place that was far from the people who killed your parents. Many of them were still on the loose at the time, and he argued that your godfather didn't have the means to protect you from the so-called Death Eaters - the terrorists who killed your parents."  
  
"How would I be protected by _muggles_?" Harry exclaimed. "They can't even protect _themselves_ from wizards, much less me!" In fact, if worst came to worst, Harry would probably be used as a human shield.  
  
"I neither know, nor understand the details." Stoneclaw admitted. "All I can do is thank the gods that you are here now."  
  
"What was the chief warlock's name?" Harry whispered, in a tone that was more of a statement than a question, and the goblin smiled a toothy grin. The boy was young, but the look on his face was a familiar one - he had seen it on many a goblin's face, at the end of a brutal fight between rivals.  
  
It was the look of a young man seeking revenge.  
  
"Albus Dumbledore." Stoneclaw smiled, and on a goblin, it looked like a horrible victorious grimace.  
  


* * *

  
Harry Potter left Gringotts Bank with a goblin letter of credit, good at any wizarding shop, and a small wallet full of British pounds. Given that he was woefully underage, even by Wizarding standards, he could only draw from his trust fund. Luckily for him, his trust fund held more galleons than most wizards made in a month, and it refilled to the previous amount every thirty days. Even luckier still, his trust fund had begun at the day Harry was born, opposed to the year he began Hogwarts, as many pureblood families arranged.  
  
He stopped in an alleyway after his withdrawal, and followed the book's instructions to glamour himself so that he was better hidden. It had been fine to take the Knight Bus (usually only ridden by half-bloods and muggleborns), and Gringotts used wards against glamours anyway. But if he wanted to go out into the wider world of Diagon Alley, the young wizard would need to attract less attention.  
  
Once he had ash brown hair and blue eyes, Harry set off for a shopping trip.  
  
His first stop was to an owlry, because his book had told him he could write letters with an owl, and send them to any location he willed. Even though Harry had no idea where Hermione lived, he had been told that magical owls were deeply intelligent, and could find any witch or wizard with just a sniff of their magical signature, like a bloodhound.  
  
(The exception, of course, was for homes that were warded against mail delivery, but Harry felt certain that if Hermione somehow got wards around her new muggle home, she surely wouldn't need mail wards.)  
  
He selected a beautiful snowy owl, and named her Hedwig, after one of the characters in his book. Harry also gathered up all the necessary supplies to care for an owl (a cage, bedding, frozen mice in an ever-fresh box, owl treats, etc.), and he consulted the book for necessary protection and notice-me-not charms. Then, he shrunk all the supplies to be pocket-sized, and sent Hedwig off to hunt. Apparently, she'd be able to find him again, now that they'd bonded, and she had his 'scent', so to speak.  
  
Then, following the same theme, he went into a stationary shop and bought parchment, envelopes, and a variety of quills. He felt uncomfortable using quill and ink to write, but the book had told him that all wizarding children used quill pens and parchment, and he didn't want to stand out when he finally went to Hogwarts.  
  
Finally, he stopped into a bookstore, and loaded up on all different kinds of books about the Wizarding World, wizard etiquette, politics and history. He didn't bother with spell books, because his family grimoire had taught him every first year spell already, and it knew almost any spell or recipe he needed. After he finished with his new books, he planned to send them to Hermione via owl post, and there was so much for them to talk about, it made his head spin with happiness. It had been years since Harry had been free to learn.  
  
Being a perfectly normal ten-year-old boy in most respects, Harry's last stop was Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and Deli. He had never actually had a frozen lolly or an ice cream before, so Harry was excited to try it. He felt like he could splurge a little bit, since it was his birthday.  
  
As Harry stepped into the store, he noticed a quaint little family sitting in a corner booth, with their own tray of sweets. There was a clear father and mother, because they both looked so much like the young boy between them. All three of them, mother, father, and son, had blonde hair, although the mother's was more of a golden blond than the others' platinum. They all looked so pale and pretty, that the man sitting across from them looked almost bat-like in comparison. He had black hair, black clothes, and deep black eyes. They looked a little bit like dominoes, or a chess board, all arrayed together in black and white.  
  
Still, the dark man was very clearly a part of the family unit. He sat with a steaming cup of tea, but he laughed with the family when they laughed, and smirked at the father when he said something inaudible. Harry figured he was probably an uncle, or a family friend.  
  
The little boy, with his quicksilver hair and gray-blue eyes, suddenly noticed Harry staring, and tugged on his mother's sleeve. Before Harry could look away, the mother rose from her seat and walked over to him, followed by her son, and watched closely by the two men at the table. It seemed the blond man looked on with disapproval.  
  
"Hello, young man." The woman smiled kindly, and looked him over. "What's your name?"  
  
"Ha-" Harry began quickly, but cut himself off. His book had been very clear that he shouldn't reveal his identity to anyone, save for people his family trusted. His godmother Alice was in a hospital called St. Mungo's, and his godfather Severus was no where to be found.  
  
"Harold, ma'am." Harry finished, with a name that was close enough to his real one, so he wouldn't get confused.  
  
"Are you hungry, Harold?" The woman asked kindly, and took his hand. Harry blushed.  
  
"Yes, but-" He was about to say that he didn't need help paying for it - he had money, but the woman interrupted him, and started walking towards the counter.  
  
"Nonsense, child. We have money enough to share for an afternoon." The woman laughed, and pushed her son forward as well. "My name is Narcissisa Malfoy, and this is my son, Draco."  
  
"Good afternoon," Harry replied with a bow. He shook Draco's hand, and kissed the air above Narcissa's knuckles, as was the proper way for a wizard to address a witch among pureblood circles. Narcissa seemed surprised by that, and Harry paled, afraid he'd made a mistake. The woman recovered quickly, and smiled again.  
  
"My, but what a little gentleman you are." She praised, and it was Draco's turn to blush. His mother was embarrassing him.   
  
They stepped up to the counter, and without Narcissa's overwhelming presence between them, Harry could sense Draco's magic, the same way he once felt Hermione's.  
  
Where Hermione was a single chord played on a harp, or watercolor on blotting paper, Draco was like a bubbling river, just below the surface - Draco was the air before a storm. Harry's magic thrummed in response, and it physically pained him to turn away when Narcissa asked him something.  
  
"Would you like to eat with us, Harold?" She asked kindly, and Harry almost forgot she meant _him_.  
  
"No thank you, ma'am. I'm actually on a bit of a schedule, and I need to get going."  
  
(He didn't, really - no one knew where he was, and he had nowhere to be. The attention from Mrs. Malfoy was making him uncomfortable though, and he wanted to leave.)  
  
"We'll have that to go, then." Narcissa told the man behind the counter, and she sealed the take-out boxes in stasis charms, so that they'd remain fresh until Harry got home.  
  
"Are you going to Hogwarts next year?" Draco asked, with a smile.  
  
"I am, actually. I'll be eleven in July." Harry replied, grinning right back. He'd never actually met a boy his own age before (Dudley didn't count), and he liked the way Draco's magic made him feel.  
  
"Brilliant!" The boy exclaimed. "What house are you hoping for?"  
  
The book, of course, had told him about the houses of Hogwarts, and he knew that the Malfoys were a known dark-aligned family with ties to Slytherin, so he felt more comfortable with sharing his true thoughts.  
  
"I expect I'll be in Slytherin," Harry explained. "I've a penchant for blood magic."  
  
The room went silent. Harry hadn't spoken very loudly, but everyone heard him, nonetheless. Draco's father looked impressed. Draco's (uncle? Godfather?) - the black-haired man looked completely shocked. Narcissa seemed to smile victoriously, and she handed Harry his bags.  
  
"That's incredible!" Draco exclaimed, finally breaking the silence, and wrapping Harry in a hug. "Do you have an owl?"  
  
"Yes, actually." Harry nodded.  
  
"Here, give this to your owl, and you'll be able to send me letters - let's write to each other!" Draco said, and he handed Harry a card from his pocket. It gave off a faint magical aura, and it would give Hedwig the magical scent of Draco Malfoy. Harry knew from the book, that wizarding people handed these out like business cards, but instead of having a telephone number or address, they carried the owner's name, and magical signal for owl post. It was very convenient for those of them who didn't mind mail, but were reluctant to give out their home address.  
  
"I'm sorry I don't have one to give you in return." Harry blushed, accepting the card from Draco and the bags of food from Narcissa (seriously, how much food did she buy for him?).  
  
"It's alright, once your owl arrives, I can just send you a return letter with your own owl. I think my mum can show me how to isolate a magical signature from an incoming letter too." The boy looked to his mother for confirmation. Narcissa nodded gently. Harry understood the process - like giving a bloodhound an article of clothing, any object could do, not just cards that were designed for the purpose. Harry had planned to use the book Hermione gave him to isolate her own magical signature for Hedwig.  
  
"I really must be going now," Harry bowed again, hampered a little by the bags in each hand. "Thank you so much for the treat."  
  
"You're welcome Harold. Feel free to write Draco whenever you wish." Narcissa smiled kindly at him, and patted his head. Harry flinched, hoping the glamour held up. (He also flinched, because an adult raising their hand in his immediate vicinity was never a good thing, even an adult as kind as Narcissa Malfoy.)  
  
"Thanks again!" Harry repeated, before he stepped back from his new friend and darted out the door.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

When Hermione awoke on the first week of August, it was to the sound of something tapping on her window. She rolled over in bed, and opened her eyes, looking out blearily at the snowy owl, who was tapping at her window with its beak. Snowy owls, and owls in general, did not live in Hermoine's neighborhood. Even regular brown owls weren't all that common in this part of England, so Hermione was surprised and confused to wake up with such a sight.  
  
Wrapping her blanket around her, Hermione rolled out of bed and padded over to the window, opening it, and letting the owl inside. It had a letter in its beak, and it gently placed the thing on Hermione's desk, before looking at her expectantly.  
  
"I wasn't exactly expecting guests." Hermione said wryly. "And I've no idea what to feed an owl."  
  
The owl clicked its beak at her, and Hermione thought for a moment. Owls were carnivores, right? Maybe she could give it a cat treat - one couldn't hurt.  
  
So Hermione pulled out the jar of treats she saved for Crookshanks, and handed one to the owl, who crunched it out of her hand eagerly. Still, it didn't leave, and settled down on her desk, as if waiting for something. Crooks eyed it suspiciously.  
  
"What? I don't think it'll be healthy to give you another one." Hermione muttered. The owl poked the sealed letter with a sharp talon.  
  
"Oh, you want me to read it first?" Hermione realized what it wanted just at the same time she realized how dumb it felt to be talking to an owl. Being a witch still surprised her, and it was times like these that she felt out of her depth.  
  
Before reading the letter itself, Hermione read the back of the envelope. The address was simple, and it didn't have any kind of street number or town, but when she saw the name, her heart soared.  
  
From: Harry Potter  
To: Hermione Granger   
  
Hesitating no longer, she ripped open the envelope, and pulled out the paper inside. Her letter was written on odd parchment, with what seemed to be a leaky ink pen...  
  
 _Dear Hermione,  
  
How have you been? I've been well, especially since I read your book - it gave me a lot of great ideas to fix up my room in the cupboard, and I can see why it's your favorite. I hope Hedwig (that's my owl) found you easily enough. She is very well trained, and will wait at your house a while for you to write a return letter. If you tell her to go out and hunt, she'll eat the mice in your neighborhood, and come back in a few hours to take your letter to me. Thanks to some handy muggle repelling and notice-me-not charms, non-magicals won't even know she's there.  
  
The other day, I went to the wizarding world for the first time, which is where I got Hedwig. You should be proud of me - I also bought a lot of books. I sent some along with Hedwig, and you'll find them in the bottom of the envelope, shrunken down to the size of index cards. You can use the enlargement spell I gave you (in the notebook) to put them back to normal size. I also put a charm on them for you, so your parents won't notice them, even when you read them. I sent books on wizarding culture, politics, etiquette and history.  
  
Don't worry about returning them. My grimoire gave me a brilliant duplication charm that copied them for me!  
  
I met a boy in Diagon Alley who reminded me of you, Hermione. I only spoke to him for a few minutes, but he seemed clever and kind, and I could feel his magic the way we feel each other's auras when we're together. I got the sense that if I introduced you two, you'd get along well. He's a pureblood, a Malfoy, but he wasn't as snobbish as I expected. His mother bought me approximately three lunches. I think she believed I was a homeless person?  
  
Ironically, it was the first time in my life I had pocket money, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. We're going to try to write to each other.  
  
How have your parents been treating you? Do they still dislike magic? My own relatives have been the same as always. They mostly ignore me when they aren't ordering me around. I've transfigured a lot of junk that no one will miss from around the house into a makeshift potions lab. A broken pot became a cauldron, a flat stone became a runic hot-plate, discarded pill bottles were turned into crystal potions vials. I've been practicing the recipes my book has taught me, and I'm doing pretty good so far! It's a lot like cooking, which you know I'm good at.  
_  
 _You may have noticed that my writing looks a little weird. I hope you can read it okay._  
  
(Truthfully, the handwriting was much sloppier than the notebook Hermione had received from him as a parting gift.)  
  
 _This is because I'm trying to write with a quill, the way wizarding children do. You should try it as well._  
  
 _I didn't send you any quills, because I suspect you're clever enough to make your own, and with the four books I sent, the envelope was rather full. For ink, I usually transfigure an old ink pen into an ink well. The book has told me that I have a lot of magic to draw on, more than a typical ten year old, so it might be harder for you than it was for me._  
  
_Write me soon, Hermione! I'm bored as can be, and when I'm not cleaning, I'm studying. I need to talk to a friend!_  
  
 _Yours, Harry._  
  
Hermione set the letter down with a smile, and upturned the envelope. Little books slid out, each the size of an index card, and only a centimeter thick. They were light as paper, and Hermione arranged them all in row. Then, she tapped her homemade wand to each one, and they each sprung up like an accordion, into full-sized books.  
  
Sometimes, she _loved_ magic.  
  
Quickly, Hermione pulled out writing materials to get back to Harry as soon as possible. She sent Hedwig out to hunt, and settled down to write.  
  
 _Dear Harry,_  
  
 _I was very surprised when I awoke this morning to an owl tapping at my window. She's very impressive if she found me without an address!_  
  
 _My parents are the same as usual - they're so busy with their new practice that they never have time for me, and most days they forget I even exist. Some days they don't even get home in time for dinner, and they call in take-out for me, to be delivered to the house. When they aren't ignoring me, they're criticising me for not making friends, for getting in trouble at school, for still believing in magic, and for 'lying' about the strange things that happen around me._  
  
 _It could be worse though. At least I'm not made to be a servant like you are, and the times my parents yell are few, and far between._  
  
 _So you met a pureblood, huh? You seem to think this Malfoy and I would be fast friends, but don't you think he'd insist I was just an upstart 'mudblood' like the books sometimes call us? I want to know more about the pureblood bias, and what they really believe. Grill him for me!_  
  
 _While you've been delving into potions, I've been seeing what I can accomplish through my familiar bond with Crookshanks. I can see through his eyes now, and sometimes I wake up from dreaming about the things he sees when he's out hunting at night - very odd! I can also sort of siphon Crooks' magic a little at a time, to supplement my own magical stores. And unlike a regular pet, I can command my familiar to go places and do things._  
  
 _I was being bothered by a certain neighbor of mine, who always shot me with the hose this summer, and threw things at me from over the fence._  
  
 _To get revenge, I created a version of the pimple hex, and linked it to a round white stone from the garden. I had Crookshanks carry that stone into the neighbor's garden, and I activated it with_ my _magic,_ through _him. As soon as the neighbor stopped harrassing me, the pimples went away, and I haven't been bothered since!_  
  
 _Familiars are amazing, and I wonder if you could use Hedwig in a similar way!  
  
I will send this just as soon as your owl returns, so be patient! I hope you had a great birthday.  
  
Hermione_  
  


* * *

  
Draco Malfoy came running from the owlry in such a frenzy that house elves dove from his path with a fury. Except of course, for Dobby, who was tripped over. Instead of helping his master and talking it out like sane people, Dobby wailed in sorrow that he'd been a bad elf, and went off to shut his ears in the oven door or whatever it was he did when he was upset.  
  
Draco was happy and energetic enough that he recovered from his tumble quite easily, and looked off after his family elf with a fond exasperation.   
  
Despite his odd behavior, and tendency to _drastically_ misunderstand his orders, Dobby was kept around because the Malfoy family as a whole never really dismissed elves. Once you were a Malfoy elf, you were a part of the family for life, or until traded away to another estate - the Malfoys didn't kill their elves, and for many, dismissal meant death.   
  
Dobby, as it was, happened to be a part of his mother's dowry, and Draco's grandmother thought she was being very clever in getting rid of a defective elf. (She wasn't fond of simply killing them, like many of the Blacks did, and marrying into the family didn't change that).  
  
"Can Missy be asking why Young Master Draco be rushing about?" An elf called playfully from a doorway Draco passed by, and he turned to face the elf who had been like a second mother to him for all his life. She looked at him with an expression that bordered a smirk, because she felt comfortable enough around Draco to tease him.  
  
"I have a letter to read, Missy." Draco replied, with an attempt to sound casual, and failing badly. "It's terribly important, you know."  
  
"Young Master Draco is _always_ getting letters, what is making this one so important?" Missy teased, before she put her hands on her hips and smirked even wider. "Is it a letter from a _girl_?"  
  
"Ew! No way!" Draco blushed and covered his eyes, mortified. "It's - it's just from _some boy_ I met in Diagon."  
  
"Oh, so it is a _boy_ that Young Master Draco be fancying!" Missy laughed, clutching her stomach, and Draco scowled.  
  
"I do _not_ fancy him." Draco sniffed, recovering some of his lost composure. "If anything, I _pity_ him."  
  
"You just keeps 'a saying that, Young Master Draco." Missy giggled.  
  
Shaking himself off, and nearly running from his encounter with the elf who had done all the dirty work in his childhood, Draco sped up to his room with the envelope in hand. He found it so weird that Missy had been with him through all the most embarrassing moments of his childhood (disturbing Eldritch nappies, projectile vomit, that time he used accidental magic to make all his clothes disappear as soon as they were put on him...) But it was getting caught with a letter from a boy that made him blush so hard.  
  
Draco pushed back the nagging questions in his mind, and focused instead on the handwriting. It was quill-written, if a bit sloppy, but he'd seen far worse from the likes of Vince and Greg's letters.  
  
The letter had been addressed from Harold Figg (Harry chose the name because of his squib neighbor), and it was a letter that Draco had been waiting for, despite his disappointment that Harold's name wasn't more interesting. Names didn't get much duller than _Harold Figg_ , but Figg was a Lesser Twenty-Eight name, at least. Draco thought that he'd never heard a name which was so mismatched with its owner.  
  
Excited, Draco flopped on his bed, and tore open the envelope, tossing it into a nearby wastebasket without really looking. The letter was what interested him, so he opened it up, and began to read.  
  
 _Dear Draco,  
  
There are so many things I want to know about the wizarding world. I know a little, as our brief conversation probably revealed, but most of my knowledge comes from books, and is drastically out of date. As a member of one of the wealthiest and oldest of the Sacred Twenty Eight families, I bet you could tell me just about anything I wanted to know!_  
  
This took Draco a bit by surprise. The letter started off as if Harold were a muggleborn or half-blood, but no one who was raised outside of the wizarding world would know about the Sacred Twenty Eight. It was mentioned in certain circles, but it was usually unwritten (except of course for the outdated copy written _ages_ ago by Cantankerous Nott), and pureblood children memorized the list and passed it to their children. There was no way he could know, unless he had a wizarding guardian. But if he had a wizarding guardian, couldn't he just ask _them_ his burning questions? It was all terribly perplexing.  
  
 _I'm almost afraid to ask, for fear of compromising our growing friendship, but I was curious about your views on muggles and muggleborns. Personally, I think that muggles shouldn't know about the wizarding world, so that we can prevent another disaster like the European or American witch persecutions. But I don't think they're lesser than us in most ways - they have to come up with inventive and interesting ways to get by without magic. Muggles have even landed on the moon, something no wizard has ever accomplished. (If you don't believe me, you should look it up! Neil Armstrong was the first man to set foot on the moon, an American.)_  
  
Draco smiled at that. Of course wizards had heard of the moon landing, and some of the die-hard purists just refused to believe it. Wizards knew about things like electricity and muggle plumbing too, though most wizards (like Arthur Weasley) saw it as nothing more than an amusing curiosity.   
  
Draco's parents were somewhere in between. Lucius Malfoy saw muggles as beings to be pitied. Why put up bothersome pipes in one's walls, when you could just use a vanishing charm on the toilet? He also had a deep mistrust of muggleborns, because they always left Hogwarts blabbing to their parents about all the wonderful and magical things they had done and seen. One wrong parent is told about the existence of the magical world, and it could become a war of extinction - would the muggles capture them and experiment on them? Use them as weapons against other muggles? Or would they use a nuclear bomb to wipe out Diagon Alley, the hub of Wizarding Britain?  
  
Wizards knew well about the accomplishments of muggles, how a well placed bullet worked just as well as a killing curse. That was what scared them.  
  
 _I don't think muggleborns are any less powerful than pureblooded wizards, but I do worry about those who are born into families that fear magic. What if they try to harm their child, to beat the magic out of them? What if they get scared of the wizarding world and wage war against us?_  
  
Draco was pleased that his new friend shared a lot of his ideals, and he would never have thought to worry about muggleborns with non-magical parents. All wizards knew that muggles tended to fear magic - could that fear also extend to their own children? And one of the terms in Harold's letter concerned him. He'd said a muggle might try to 'beat' the magic out of a child, as if such a thing would work. Almost as if he knew from personal experience.  
  
This was unsettling for Draco, and he resolved to take the letter to his father as soon as he was done reading it. Harold had said nothing in the letter that his parents might disapprove of, and he thought that if anyone could help this boy, who might be in very real danger, it was Lucius Malfoy.  



	6. Chapter 6

Severus Snape watched the little boy run off with a hint of a sneer. He didn't look down on street urchins by any means, but the look in his eyes when Narcissa reached out to touch him... It reminded Severus of bad times in his childhood, and the sneer was for the memory of his father, not the boy in front of him.

  
He leaned back in his seat as Draco and Narcissa returned to the sound-proofed booth.  
  
"You shouldn't have given that boy your card, Draco." Malfoy sighed, frowning into his Earl Grey with a pensive look.  
  
"Father, you're always telling me I should associate with the right sort." Draco retorted. "He's a Slytherin, he has _impeccable_ manners, and his family has a connection to blood magic. He sounds like a fellow I should get to know."  
  
"He has you there, darling." Narcissa smiled.  
  
"Be that as it may, he was also wearing shabby muggle clothing, two or three sizes too large, and ill-fitting glasses. He looked like a gutter child." Lucius explained his reasoning, and Narcissa frowned.  
  
"But he also owned an owl," She began.  
  
" _If_ he was telling the truth." Severus interrupted.  
  
"Fine then, he at least _knew_ about owl post." Narcissa corrected. "He greeted Draco and I as a proper pureblood, and he knew about the Hogwarts houses and Slytherin's tendency to the dark arts. That's not something I'd expect a muggleborn or a pauper half-blood to know about."  
  
"What if he was a war orphan?" Lucius offered. "A lot of pureblood children from darker families were sent to live at orphanages when their parents died in battle. Perhaps an underfunded orphanage might still have an owl to use. Perhaps they have a tutor for etiquette and the like."   
  
"But from which family?" Narcissa muttered. "The only family I know with an affinity for blood magic are the Lestranges, and I'm certain Bella didn't have any children."  
  
"Lily was a dab hand at blood warding and ritual magic." Severus sighed morosely.  
  
"That boy couldn't have been Harry Potter though." Lucius quickly replied. "Even without the scar, he looked nothing like the baby you described, Sev."  
  
"If anything," Narcissa added, "He looked the spitting image of a young Theodorus Nott."  
  
(The Malfoys and Snape didn't know it, but it was sheer luck that Harry chose those hair and eye colors for his glamour charm - the resemblance to the Nott family was entirely coincidental.)  
  
"Do the Notts have a war orphan floating around out there?" Severus mused. "They aren't known for blood magic, but that family has _some_ talent in ritual magic. Perhaps that's what the boy meant?"  
  
"Given their losses during the war, I'd be surprised if they didn't claim any bastard or half-blood they had, even if born out of wedlock, or with a muggle." Lucius mused.  
  
"Well, you didn't hear it from _me_ , but we _all_ know how close I used to be with my cousin Regulus." Narcissa began in a low voice.  
  
"Gods bless his memory." Severus murmured.  
  
"Well, you recall he was once betrothed to Helena Nott?" Narcissa continued. "He confided in me, before the mission that killed him, that Helena was bearing his child. When the dear girl was killed during that raid, I assumed the baby had died with her."  
  
"Ah, but what if she gave it up for adoption as soon as it was born, and the baby wasn't in the house during the raid at all!" Lucius exclaimed, having realized what his wife was getting at.  
  
"It wouldn't be the first time an 'accident' was sent away for being born out of wedlock..." Severus mused.  
  
"Given the timeline, it could happen. If Helena was with child the year Reggie died, the baby would probably be about Draco's age now." Lucius continued, and Draco looked up when he heard his own name. He hadn't really been listening to the adults' conversations, and he quickly ignored them again when he realized they weren't actually talking about him.  
  
"This is all conjecture though," Severus broke into the conversation again with a gruff voice. "We don't know if Helena Nott was ever really pregnant. If she was, her family kept it _very_ quiet, and we have no guarantees that the child even survived the birth long enough to die in that last raid."  
  
Everyone was silent at that, and Severus steepled his fingers on the table.  
  
"We _do_ know, however, that _Harry Potter_ is alive. He's out there somewhere, perhaps even going through the same suffering which that little boy was dealing with." Severus' voice broke on the last words, and Draco looked up. He was terribly interested in the story of Harry Potter, and how he'd been spirited away from his godfather Severus. Severus Snape _also_ happened to be Draco's godfather, and in his ten-year-old mind, Draco thought that made the mysterious Harry Potter his brother, of sorts. He wanted to help his parents find Harry, and he wanted desperately to meet him and offer his friendship, and that was why Draco was so intent about the ragged little boy he saw earlier.  
  
"That was why I spoke to that boy," Draco explained. "He reminded me so much of the boy you're looking for, and I thought he looked so hungry and sad."  
  
"We have to find him, Lucius." Severus glared down at the table to hide his sadness. "We _must_ find him."  
  
"Worry not, my old friend." Lucius Malfoy stated comfortingly, and placed a hand on Severus' shoulder. "We'll track down Harry Potter soon enough, and when we do, there will be hell to pay for Albus Dumbledore."  
  
"And you can't know for certain that he's suffering, Severus." Narcissa consoled her friend, patting his stiff hands. "He might be living happily and comfortably, with the light families Lucius is looking into."  
  
"Honestly, despite how it pains me to say it, Severus," Lucius added with a grimace. "Provided they were good to him, and he learned our ways, Harry could even be happy with _muggles_."  
  
It was then, that an idea occurred to Narcissa and Severus at the same time, and their eyes lit up.  
We have no guarantee that Harry Potter isn't living happily and safely, far away from Wizarding Britain." Narcissa began.  
  
"But that little boy is here." Severus interrupted. "That boy, _whoever_ he is, needs help."  
  
"And we shall help him, Severus." Narcissa smirked at her son, who was oblivious to the role he was to play in their conspiracy.   
  
"Just as soon as we get his owl address."


	7. Chapter 7

"Master Lucy Malfoy is calling for Missy?" The head nanny elf announced as she popped into Lucius' study.  
  
"My name isn't Lucy, it's Lucius." The head of the Malfoy family heaved a long-suffering sigh. Normally, he didn't actually care what the elves called him, but he was tired this evening and wasn't feeling up to their antics.  
  
Missy got a look of confusion on her face, and Lucius felt compelled to explain.  
  
"Lucy is a woman's name, and I'm _not_ a woman, Missy."  
  
"But..." Missy looked still more complexed. "But... Most elves have names that end in the 'ee' sound. And in the elf names, Lucy is meaning 'much sly and clever,' and Missy thought it fitted."  
  
That made Lucius smile. His son's nanny elf didn't seem to be pulling his leg, but even if she was, he found it too cute to care.  
  
"Ah, in any case, it doesn't really matter." Lucius smiled. "I was just concerned you might embarrass me in front of other wizards. You can surely see how being called the wrong name might be embarrassing."  
  
"Understood, Master Lucy Malfoy. Missy would want to pull her ears like Dobby if she was called the wrong name by other elves." Missy gave a little bow. "I will make sure other elves know to call Master Lucy by his proper wizard name around other wizards."  
  
"Thank you, Missy. Now, let's get down to business." Lucius clapped his hands briskly, settling down behind his desk.  
  
"Missy is ready!" The elf bowed, and then mimicked Lucius' clap with significantly more enthusiasm.  
  
"I've received word that a young wizard is in need of some help. By all indications, he's a young pureblood who is living in a house with non-wizards." Lucius explained. "I want you to go observe the boy without being seen, and report back to me about how he is treated, and what his living arrangements are like."  
  
"Missy means not to be presuming, but why does Master Lucy Malfoy not examine this himself?"  
  
"For several reasons, but the most important one is that I only have his mail address." Lucius explained. "House elves can follow a wizard's magic signal, like Owls can."  
  
"But Missy cannot be revealing the address to her Master, such a thing would go against our magic bindings." She gave Lucius a very pointed look. "Unless someone were to put a tracking charm upon Missy, and follow her...?"  
  
"I don't think that's necessary." Lucius chuckled. "I just want you to go see what's going on. The boy is a friend of Draco's and if he's being mistreated, I want to know. If he were in a wizarding home, there would probably be wards against Elf apparition, but we're convinced he's with muggles."  
  
"Understood, Master Lucy Malfoy!" Missy saluted.  
  
"I've set aside some money in a separate Gringott's vault for this project." (It was actually Severus Snape's money. He'd given Lucius a certain amount for the upkeep of the odd little boy they'd met at the ice-cream parlor, in order to ease his guilt at losing Harry.) "So if the boy wants for anything, clothes or food, or bedding, try to get it for him without being seen."  
  
"Missy has a good knowledge of what children needs." The nanny elf proudly exclaimed. "Missy will be using the money to help the young wizard if she can."  
  
"It's most imperative that you aren't seen." Lucius explained. "We can't startle the boy."  
  
"Understood!" Missy saluted again.  
  
"Now, take this letter, and follow the signal to the boy's house." Lucius said, as he handed Harry's letter across the desk to the elf.  
  
"Missy will not fail in her mission, Master Lucy Malfoy!'  
  


* * *

  
Today was the worst day of Harry's life.   
  
He usually woke up before the rest of the family with a good sense of time - he had a magical window drawn on his wall that allowed Hedwig to come in and out as if he wasn't in a closet. He'd linked it to Dudley's second bedroom, so he had the view from that floor of the house, and if Hedwig tapped at the physical upper window, he could let her in through the magical one. Today though, it was raining, and he couldn't tell what time it was, but he woke up to the faint sound of Aunt Petunia banging on his cupboard door.  
  
Harry quickly rushed out of bed, and stepped through the false wall via the hidden door he'd made. It would be awful if Petunia came in after him, only to find him not there. The last thing Harry wanted, was for someone to find his secret expanded room under the stairs. It was his only sanctuary.  
  
Harry closed the hidden door, and opened the door that led out to the rest of the house. Petunia dragged him out of the closet by his elbow, and Harry scarcely had time to blink before she'd shoved him into the kitchen to start breakfast.  
  
"You lazy, good for nothing layabout." Petunia muttered, fixing her hair. A lot of it had fallen from her bun when she had been so furiously banging at the cupboard. "Breakfast should have been _done_ ten minutes ago, and now Vernon might be late for work! If that happens, boy, you won't eat all day!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, I - I don't know what came over me." Harry whispered quietly, and tried not to cry. He was used to this treatment, but almost every child wants very badly to please and to be praised, and knowing that it would never come didn't make the knowledge any lighter.  
  
"You'd better not let it happen again, or I'll box your damn ears, boy!"  
  
Harry's relatives didn't often raise their hand against him, but they threatened it often. And Dudley tried to use Harry as a punching bag as soon as his parents weren't looking, but once he'd learned the Stupefy and Obliviate spell, He made quick work of his cousin. Life was a lot better, since Harry had learned about magic.  
  
Of course, with Aunt Petunia watching him like a hawk, it was hard to use magic to help when he could, and breakfast was late - Uncle Vernon had to go without, and left the house fuming. Harry worried that he'd be locked in the cupboard all afternoon and night, and wouldn't be fed for three days.  
  
After Petunia and Dudley were done with breakfast, Harry stealthily pocketed some of the scraps before he got sent off to run errands. He had a list of groceries to buy, and chores to do after he got home. Aunt Petunia went off to her bridge club, and that meant Dudley believed he'd have free reign over Harry while she was gone. The minute his mother left, Dudley pounced.  
  
And Harry was ready.  
  
The young wizard spun around with a smirk, and shouted "Stupefy!" Dudley fell to the ground with a thud, and Harry grinned. He was forced to Obliviate Dudley after stunning him, so that he wouldn't tell his parents what Harry had done. Knowing his Aunt and Uncle, they might beat him black and blue if he'd knowingly done something 'freakish' to Dudley. Harry might try scaring Dudley enough that he wouldn't talk, or bother him anymore, but Harry was ultimately a good boy, and the thought never occurred to him.  
  
It started raining on his way back from the corner store, and Harry nearly cried. He was sure that wizards must have a way of staying dry, but he'd never bothered to ask his book. A lorry came by and splashed him with muddy water as he dragged his groceries back home.  
  
Back home, he dried himself and the groceries with a drying charm, and hoped Aunt Petunia didn't notice they got wet. He put everything where it belonged, and by that time, Dudley had woken up and seen him using magic to help clean the kitchen. Harry sighed as he used another stunning spell, and completely ignored the crack of Dudley's head on the linoleum.  
  
By the time Vernon and Petunia came home, he was magically exhausted. He was physically exhausted too, but he still had to make dinner, and watch weakly from the doorway as everyone ate. Then, he stayed in the kitchen and cleaned the dishes as the family watched television, and he counted his blessings that they left him alone to eat their scraps.  
  
When Harry was finally allowed to crawl into bed, he went into the cupboard, and heard the door being locked behind him, so that he couldn't sneak into the kitchen at night. He was never more glad for his hidden sanctuary, and he crept through the door, into the darkness of the expanded room, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry.  
  
But he still wanted to study, so he turned on the lumos runes with a heavy sigh. What he saw, was nothing short of miraculous.  
  
Someone had come into his room while he was gone, and it looked more like a real room now! There had been beautiful curtains hung around his bathroom area, and his transfigured cot had been re-transfigured by someone with greater skill than he could boast. It was now a beautiful queen sized bed, with a mahogany head-board, and covered with a beautiful green quilt, the very same color as his eyes, and covered with little golden balls with wings.  
  
Someone had put up wallpaper, a beautiful starry skyline. (He found out later, that it changed with the time of day.) He had a beautiful plush rug in front of the fireplace, and a soft rocking chair before the fire. Best of all, on a cute little table, there sat a box, with a note stuck to the top.  
  
 _Be brave, little boy who is living under the stairs! There is being people who cares about you._  
  
Of course, Harry had friends, like Hermoine, and maybe Draco, but so far in his life, no adult had ever really cared for him - and this fantastic display was almost certainly the work of an adult. His teachers called him a liar, and his relatives called him a freak. His neighbor Mrs. Figg, only babysat him because his relatives paid her, and she rarely even _fed_ him when he stayed at her house.  
  
But someone out there - _someone_ cared about him!  
  
Harry pulled off the note with a little tearing sound, and examined the shaky handwriting and odd sentence structure. The way his room had been changed was clearly the work of an adult with money to buy things, and the magical skill to sneak into his house and change things without his knowledge. But the note seemed to have been written by a child.  
  
(The note, of course, had been written by Missy, and nanny elves were some of the few elves who could write and read as well as a wizard. It had been years since she taught Draco to write, however, and Missy was out of practice. She also wrote the way she spoke, which must have sounded very odd to Harry.)  
  
Without waiting any longer, Harry opened the box, and an amazing smell hit him as soon as he pulled open the lid. Inside of the box was a full dinner, still just as hot as if it had just been made. There was a tureen full of hearty soup, with barley and lentils and a savory vegetable broth. There was crusty garlic bread and fluffy yeast rolls, and a main course of huge, stuffed, cheese ravioli with a side of salad and his choice of dressing. He even had what looked like a blackberry cobbler for desert, and his mouth was watering, just looking at it.  
  
Someone out there cared about him, and just when things seemed to be the worst, magic never let him down.  
  


* * *

  
"And the mean muggles be using young master wizard like an elf!" Missy explained to Lucius Malfoy that very evening. "And even worse than an elf, because they be keeping him from food, and the little muggle boy thinks he can be hurting the young wizard for no reason!"  
  
The situation was worse than Lucius thought, but he felt a level of pride in watching Missy's righteous fury. As a nanny elf, she was very protective of children, and it was why he'd sent her on this mission.  
  
"What did the muggle do to him?" Lucius asked, almost afraid to know.   
  
Missy smirked.  
  
"Nothing at all. Without any help from Missy, the young master be stunning and obliviating his rude muggle housemate."  
  
The puzzle just got more and more puzzling, Lucius thought. The boy lived with muggles, but he knew the stunning spell, and Obliviate was a seventh-year spell that some _adults_ had trouble mastering. And according to Missy's reports, he'd done a great transfiguration job on his little prison, and creating the subspace to expand his room involved a good deal of theoretical wizarding physics. He knew wizarding etiquette and the Sacred Twenty Eight, and given his letter to Draco, he knew a good deal about the magical world. How was that possible if he lived with magic-hating muggles?   
  
Lucius was convinced that Harold had to be a pureblood, who, through some odd twist of fate or malicious intent, was living with muggles.  
  
"So while the young master wizard was being forced to work and cook, Missy was fixin' up his room, and she told the other Malfoy elves to be making a good dinner and putting it in a box that be charmed to stay fresh." Missy smiled proudly. "Missy be buying the ingredients for the dinner and all the new supplies with her separate Gringy-gotsy funds."  
  
"Good work, Missy." Lucius praised, happy that he could help a little to make the boy's life a bit better. He couldn't just swoop in and take the boy (Narcissa's idea - she had been horrified to hear how he was being treated) until he did some research. Who were those muggles, and what claim did they have to the boy? Who was Harold Figg, and did he have any wizarding relatives? If he got the proof of the boy's abuse, would Minister Fudge allow him to rescue the child, or would he be thwarted by the nefarious wizard who'd sent him there in the first place? _Was_ there such a wizard? Or was Harold simply one of the many war orphans who fell through the cracks?  
  
"Missy wishes to be asking, Master Lucy Malfoy sir, can she be bringing the young master another meal tomorrow?" The house elf asked shyly, and brightened as soon as her master nodded.  
  
"Bring him breakfast too, and try to wake him before the muggles so he can have time to eat it." Lucius added. "And don't worry about buying the ingredients with the separate account. It's more convenient to use what we already have, just make an extra meal, as if we had a guest."  
  
"Understood! Missy will make sure the elves be knowing."  
  
Ironically, Missy had not been at the Ice Cream Parlor that day, and had not been told that the boy she was looking for had ash-brown hair and blue eyes. And because Harry was only called 'boy' or 'freak' by his relatives, she didn't know that his name wasn't, in fact, Harold Figg.  
  
So the search for Harry Potter continued.


	8. Chapter 8

Hedwig returned the next morning with a friend. A large tawny eagle owl was flapping behind her, and Harry let them both inside. Anyone inside Dudley's second bedroom would see two owls tapping at the window, and disappearing as soon as they touched the window with their beaks. Harry wasn't concerned about being seen, because Hedwig had good anti-muggle charms and no one was in the second bedroom at this time of day. (He doubted his relatives were even awake.)  
  
Harry opened the window and let the owls inside with a grin.  
  
"And who are you, mate?" Harry asked the eagle owl, who settled on the back of his chair before the fire. The owl pushed forward a letter from one Draco Malfoy. "Are you the Malfoy family owl?"  
  
The huge bird nodded, and Harry gave him a treat. Afterward, he left the way he came, and Harry smiled.  
  
"What a beautiful bird." He mused, and Hedwig nipped jealously at his sleeve.  
  
"But not as beautiful as you, girl." Harry said as he petted her feathers, and Hedwig preened at the attention.  
  
Then, he settled down to read his mail, over the breakfast that had appeared overnight, just as it had for every day over the past week.  
  
 _Dear Harold,  
  
I'm totally fine with talking about muggles, and I actually agree with you on many of the things you said. My father has a very strong mistrust of muggleborns, because you never know when they have muggle friends and parents who end up knowing too much about our world. My mother feels the same way, but she doesn't mind muggleborns, people from our generation tend to feel that way, but people from my grandfather's generation are a lot more extreme. My aunt Andromeda was kicked out of the family for marrying a muggleborn! My parents are very kind to me, and I couldn't see them kicking me out for anything, especially for marrying a muggleborn._  
  
 _One of my personal problems is how muggleborns always gawk at everything and comment on all the magic they never get to see at home. It can get to be rather annoying! Not to mention, Wizards have a culture. A religion. We have traditions, and muggleborns tend to completely disregard them when they come to our world. Because of that, we tend to see them as less magical. Our traditions are part of who we are, and for years, we've watered them down for the sake of light families and muggleborns._  
  
 _For example; every year on October 31st, witches and wizards celebrate Samhain (pronounced like Sah-win), which is a festival to honor our ancestors. Nowadays, Hogwarts has a Halloween Party to celebrate the occasion, which has absolutely nothing to do with our traditions. Likewise, we celebrate Yule instead of Christmas, and all these holidays are being forgotten because the ministry frowns on the old ways and ritual magic._  
  
Now, the thought of that made Harry's blood boil. Because his family Grimoire was made through a ritual performed by his mother, the book had told him so. And the book had also explained that ritual magic wasn't dark magic. And in fact, there was no light or dark magic, only intent, and the points Draco raised were good ones. He thought the boy was being a little petty about muggleborns staring at everything, but he seemed to have led a very sheltered life.  
  
 _For this reason, we have a name for families who've forgotten their heritage - we call them blood traitors, because they've betrayed their ancestors, their own blood - for the sake of fitting in. This is one of the biggest reasons behind the feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys. They used to be on good terms with the pureblood families, even with the Blacks, who married into the line, and from which my mother comes. (Not to mention, the current Weasley matriarch was even from a Sacred Twenty Eight family!) But over the years, they wanted to be more like muggles, so they converted to Christianity, and gave up the old family rituals and holidays._  
  
 _My father_ despises _Arthur Weasley, not least because he conducts raids on our properties for forbidden magical artifacts while smuggling muggle trinkets from his own department! It's fine when HE breaks the rules, because he's from a family on good terms with the current ministry._  
  
 _I don't want to use all my parchment to talk about politics, though I'm glad to explain it to you._  
  
 _Shall I explain about Quidditch? You can't learn about it much from books, though there are a lot of books about the sport. My father was on the Slytherin team while he was at Hogwarts, and I hope to be there too! I'm a pretty good chaser, but the seeker always gets the most fame, so it's awfully hard to decide. There are five balls in Quidditch, and it's played on flying broomsticks._  
  
 _There are two goals on either end of the pitch, and it's the job of the two chasers to throw the quaffles through them, to score points. The keeper flies in front of the goals and prevents the chasers from scoring. There are also two beaters, and their job is to whack a ball called a bludger into the paths of the enemy team. It can be very dangerous to be hit with one! Finally, there's the seeker, who finds the golden snitch. It's the smallest and fastest of the balls, and the seeker who finds it first will end the game. The team that finds the snitch will also get loads of points, so they usually win, if the point difference isn't drastic._  
  
 _Does that make sense? You really have to see it to believe it! Maybe my mum and dad can take us to a game this summer. The Quidditch World Cup is a huge deal, and it's supposed to be played in France this year._  
  
Harry thought it all sounded rather confusing, but now he suspected that the golden winged orbs on his bedspread were snitches. Who had given him a golden snitch comforter? And why?  
  
Also, the book had never told him that witches really flew on broomsticks! He'd never really bothered to ask, and suddenly the brooms on his baby blanket made sense - those weren't clouds of dust from sweeping - they were clouds in the sky! One of his parents must have enjoyed flying! Hermoine would probably like to hear about what he'd learned.  
  
 _So, do you have any hobbies? I like to read. Many wizards like to read the classics of muggle literature, especially the ones that take place in a culture similar to ours. I don't like to read modern muggle writing, because the world is so different, and it mentions a lot of contraptions I don't know or understand. I'm reading The Swiss Family Robinson now, and it's very fun, if a little difficult. On that note, did you know Shakespeare was a squib? His plays are very popular in Wizarding Britain!  
_  
 _Write me soon, and tell me all about your daily life and interests!  
  
\- Draco_  
  
Harry laughed happily. Hermione would be interested to learn that. Quidditch sounded confusing and dangerous, but he wanted to give it a try, if only because one or both of his parents were involved. Thanks to the school library at his muggle primary school, he'd read several of the classics himself, and he wondered if Draco had read A Little Princess. It was very similar to the situation he now found himself in, even down to the hot meals delivered twice a day. At least he had the comfort of knowing that his mysterious benefactor was using real magic, and not just slight of hand.  
  
Hedwig barked impatiently from the other side of the table, and Harry gave her a piece of his bacon while he took the letter she had brought back from Hermione. In his last letter, he'd told her about his odd surprise, and while he was welcome, glad to finally be getting regular meals, he was perplexed at the silent way the intruder came into his secret room just to bring him things. He'd recenty been given a bookshelf, loaded with children's books and wizarding books and _Hogwarts: A History_. He'd been reading them every night, and it pleased him greatly. Still, he'd like to thank his mysterious friend, and wasn't quite sure how to do it. Perhaps Hermione had given him an idea in her letter.  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
  
I bet your mysterious friend is delivering the things via house elf! They're great at moving silently, and they can go anywhere, just as long as the place doesn't ward against them. According to one of the books you sent, they can't read or write very well, so it would make sense that the handwriting was crooked. I'd suggest writing back to the elf, but I don't know if it would be able to read it - and who's to say the one who delivers your meals every day is even the same elf that wrote the note?  
  
They can also track you via your magical signal, like a post owl, so it stands to reason that whoever's sending you care packages must have your owl address.  
  
Could it be the family of that boy you've been corresponding with? If they're really Malfoys, they surely have enough money to use on some boy they hardly know, though they aren't known for being charitable, except to large organizations. It's very intriguing. Why do you suppose this mysterious friend has taken an interest in you specifically?  
_  
Harry kept wondering the answer to that himself. He hadn't revealed anything that day, or afterward, and he had no idea why anyone would care about a scruffy little boy with bad glasses. But he was so glad they did.  
  
As soon as he was done with the letter, Harry finished off his breakfast and got ready for the day. He was surprised when he stepped out of his cupboard to see a delivery man at the door. The Dursleys rarely received packages with the mail, and even more rarely did they see such a strangely dressed delivery man. He wore a uniform that was bright green, and a hat with a little rotating light on top.  
  
"I've got a package here for the little boy in the cupboard under the stairs." The man explained in a dull tone.  
  
"Do I need to sign for it?" The boy asked, and was relieved when the man told him not to. He wasn't sure if signing his given name would be revealing himself to someone who wasn't trusted.  
  
As soon as he'd arrived, the delivery man disappeared with a pop that Harry would later learn to recognize as the sign of apparition. He peered down at the box, and the note that was stuck to it.  
  
"To the little boy in the cupboard under the stairs - please wear them every day."  
  
"Boy, bring in the mail and start on breakfast!" Aunt Petunia's voice came from the kitchen, and Harry quickly trotted off to the dining room and placed all the letters and the newspaper on the table. He held onto the box.  
  
"Well? Put that one down too." Petunia scoffed. "I don't think we've ever gotten a big package like that with the morning post."  
  
"It's mine, ma'am." Harry replied.  
  
"What do you mean, it's yours? You live under _my_ roof, you ungrateful little wretch! You own nothing, not even the clothes on your back!" Petunia took the box from Harry, and reading the note, she paled.  
  
Who sent this? And how did they know her nephew lived under the stairs? What could _possibly_ be in the huge package that was nearly the size of Harry himself, but light as could be?She took a knife and opened the tape holding the box closed.  
  
Inside, beneath layers of light packing paper that shimmered like fresh fallen snow, was a full wardrobe of clothes, folded and arranged by muggle and wizarding style. And Petunia recognized that this must have come from a wizard, and the thought terrified her. Someone from that world knew that Harry lived under the stairs in a cupboard. Someone knew he wore his cousin's worn hand-me-downs. Someone wanted him to be well treated, and might well turn them into frogs or something if they didn't comply.  
  
Harry was simply gawking at the new clothes, all very fine quality and in muted earth tones and blacks. He wanted to put them on immediately, and looked to his aunt for permission.  
  
"Get these things out of my sight, and make sure you wear the _normal_ clothes from now on. Those _freakish_ clothes will stay in the box they came in." Petunia muttered, and glanced out her window suspiciously. How would she know she was being watched? Where could the freaks be hiding? Could she trust the neighbors?  
  
In a fit of sudden paranoia, she called after her nephew. "And Harry? Don't worry about breakfast. I realized that if I want it done right, I should do it myself from now on."  
  
From somewhere just behind her, Petunia thought she heard a tiny laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

"Tell me about the boy," Severus asked Lucius Malfoy with a faint smile, looking into his tea, as if he could read the leaves into something resembling the future. "Does he like his gifts? How are the muggles treating him?"  
  
"Missy tells me that he's been wearing his new clothes every day, and the muggle woman who runs the household hasn't been making him do nearly as many chores." Lucius explained cheerfully. "He spends his free time reading and practicing magic."  
  
"How does he practice magic?" Severus asked curiously. "Does he have a wand?"  
  
"He does. It might be a family wand, passed down from his parents, or it might be a home-made wand that he somehow created." Lucius explained.  
  
"The secrets of wand-making are so exceptionally well hidden, Lucius. How could the boy have known the technique?"   
  
Lucius shrugged. "The same way he knew how to expand his room using advanced subspace theory. The boy's a transfiguration prodigy, from what Missy's been telling me."  
  
"But how?" Severus insisted. "He _must_ have a teacher, because there would be no other way of his knowing such advanced magic."  
  
"I can't say, old friend." Lucius sighed. "Missy has never seen a magical person enter the house, and the only creature to visit the boy is his owl."  
  
"What about his books? Does he have a family grimoire or something? That would settle my curiosity about the matter." Snape asked impatiently, and explained that a prodigy might well understand the instructions enough to cast the spells.  
  
"Now that I think about it, Missy mentioned that one of his books had a magical aura. Now, how did she put it?" Lucius mused, thinking hard, before he made a decision. "Missy!"  
  
"Master Malfoy be calling Missy?" The house elf asked, with a noted glance to Severus. Lucius was happy she didn't call him Lucy in front of his former schoolmate.  
  
"Yes, I did." Lucius smiled and leaned down in his chair to meet her eyes. "Tell me about the odd book you found in the boy's room."  
  
"Well," Missy began. "Young master wizard be having _lots_ of weird books for a young boy."  
  
"Didn't you say that one of them had a magical aura?" Severus prompted, and Missy nodded briskly.  
  
"I be noticing that young master wizard's favorite book be very dark." Missy explained in a low voice. "It be so dark, it be like _all_ the magic in the room be swallowed up."  
  
Lucius frowned deeply. He had no proof, of course, but Missy's description had reminded him of a book he'd once held in trust for someone. A book that had turned to ashes on the night Lord Voldemort died. He rose to get the fire whiskey - Severus looked like he could use something stronger than tea.  
  
"I also can sense three souls tied to that book." Missy explained. "Two of them are there because they was meant to be. One was being an accident."  
  
Lucius looked to Severus, who had gone very pale. "Is this making any sense to you, Sev?"  
  
"What does the book look like?" Severus asked Missy with a kind of feverish passion, and she looked at him oddly.  
  
"Er, it was being a book of those wizardy fairy tales? Beetle and something, yes?" Missy hesitantly answered.  
  
"Beedle the Bard." Severus nodded, and sank back into his chair as if he'd seen a ghost. "Lily... She... She made a special copy of Beedle the Bard for Harry."  
  
"And?" Lucius asked, pouring out the drink into two tumblers and sliding one to Severus. He picked it up with trembling hands and sipped carefully, so as not to be forced to breathe fire, like those who gulped it down in shots.  
  
"And I was there when she added the magic." He looked very pointedly to Lucius. "It involved certain acts that could be considered very illegal, certain spells that were of the _darkest_ caliber."  
  
Lucius glanced from side to side, glad to see that Missy had excused herself upon seeing the conversation get serious.  
  
"A... A _horcrux_...?" He whispered, shocked and pale. Severus nodded.  
  
"Lily's copy of Beedle the Bard is handwritten, beautifully illustrated, and indestructible. It's got all her knowledge at the time of its creation, so I have no doubt it would be able to teach subspace theory, or how to make a wand, or how to _glamour oneself_."  
  
That last part was spoken very pointedly, and Lucius startled.  
  
"You don't mean...?"  
  
"I mean it very much." Severus nodded, his dark eyes half-closed and very intense.  
  
"You mean to say that the boy we met in Diagon Alley could have been Harry?" Lucius asked, in some combination of horror and relief. Horror that the boy they'd been looking for had been right in front of them the whole time, and relief that they'd finally found him.  
  
"If the book was anything else, I'd say it was a long shot." Severus admitted. "But the book is Beedle the Bard, and Missy's description of it convinces me."  
  
"Well that leaves us with nothing left to do but go fetch him!" Lucius exclaimed, finishing his fire whiskey in a long swallow, and breathing fire at the high ceiling.  
  
(Luckily, the Malfoy smoking room's ceiling was very high indeed, and had survived many generations of Malfoys breathing fire at it. It was blissfully unscathed.)  
  
Lucius called for Missy, and put a tracking charm on her. Just before she realized what he was doing, he Obliviated her, so that she and her house elf oath-magic would be blameless in what was to come.  
  
"Master Malfoy be summoning Missy again?" She asked with a slightly bewildered expression.  
  
"Yes, Missy." Lucius smiled, and it went a long way to calming her nerves. "I wanted you to bring something to the boy."  
  


* * *

  
It was an exceedingly normal Thursday at Number Four Privet Drive, just the way the lady of the house liked it. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping. Her no-good freakish nephew had made sure the flowers looked exceptional this year, and the lawn was immaculate. Petunia's husband was at work, at his very normal, upwardly mobile office job, and little Dudders was playing in the cul-de-sac with his little friends. Her nephew was sequestered silently in his dark little hole, and as long as he didn't make a peep, she could pretend he didn't even exist.  
  
It was a perfect day.  
  
Two figures apparated into the neighborhood - one had hair as black as night, and a dark cloak that billowed around him like the cape of the grim reaper himself. He walked with a hunch, slowly and deliberately, as if he had been sick for a long time and was learning how to walk again. His expression was a feverish, earnest anticipation.  
  
The other man wore beautifully tailored dress robes in a light shade of dove-grey, and his long hair was white as starlight. He walked as if he was Emperor of all he surveyed, and his smile was that of a lordly solicitor - the smile struck passerby as untrustworthy, though they didn't know why. He smiled as though mere emotion was below his notice.  
  
The two visitors cast a powerful notice-me-not charm as soon as they arrived on the muggle street, and as soon as it settled about them, the few muggles on the sidewalks decided that the strangers in strange attire were someone else's problem.  
  
It was the beauty of the Adams Notice-Me-Not - instead of simply ignoring them, people would believe that the charmed individual was none of their business, and it was far more efficient than the traditional charm. Snape always felt a tinge of sadness when he used it, because the charm was not, in fact, invented by a a wizard named Adams. It was invented by Lily Evans, and inspired by a muggle novel, _written by_ Douglas Adams. They had thought it was great fun to explain the joke to their pureblood friends Frank and Alice, and Severus still had the copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ where Lily had scribbled her notes.  
  
The two wizards made their way to the place where the house-elf had unknowingly led them, and stopped at the door, glancing at each other cautiously.  
  
"Are you ready for this, Severus?" Lucius asked with a raised eyebrow, and the other man nodded jerkily.  
  
"I never thought I'd meet Petunia again. Knowing how she'll have treated Harry, it's going to be difficult not to kill her on the spot."  
  
"If we wish to take Harry legally, the muggles mustn't be killed." Lucius sighed in a long suffering way. "I wholeheartedly agree with you though. It's a temptation of massive proportion."  
  
"What if he hates me?" Snape asked, fearfully.  
  
"Why would he hate you, old boy?" Lucius asked with a smile. "Because Dumbledore kept you from taking him in? That's the old codger's fault, not yours."  
  
"Because I wasn't there to protect them." Severus murmured. "I didn't _beg_ Lily to make me the secret keeper instead of that _dog_ , Black. I wasn't there to defend them that night in Godric's Hollow."  
  
"You were finishing your potions mastery out of the country, who could have blamed you?"  
  
"I should have put it off until the war ended. I should have been there with Lily and her husband and Harry." Snape insisted, and Malfoy put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"No matter what happened in the past, Harry needs you _now_." The blond insisted with a huff of frustration. "If you really want to make it up to him, you have to _knock on that door, Severus!"_  
  
With a nod, and a look of trepidation, Severus Snape raised his hand and knocked.  
  
Petunia Dursley answered the door with a charming hostess' smile. Then she looked up and saw who was on her doorstep. With a little squeak and comically wide eyes, she moved to slam the door, and was stopped by a cane that had appeared in the doorjamb. Lucius Malfoy peered over the threshold, and smiled at Petunia, who was deeply unsettled by it.  
  
"Hello, madame. My name is Lucius Malfoy, and I'm here on behalf of my client - and my friend - Mr. Severus Snape." He tilted his head as if he had just realized her shock, and raised an imperious eyebrow. "Might I presume you two know each other?"  
  
"You - You!" Petunia sputtered impotently and stepped back from the door with some mixture of rage and fear, and Lucius took the opportunity to step into the house. Severus followed him, and swept immediately to the little cupboard door.  
  
" _You!_ " Petunia Dursley hissed at Severus, who ignored her, and Lucius goaded her into sitting on the sofa with a firm hand on her shoulder. "You can't come into my house and disturb things!"  
  
"Now now, Mrs. Dursley," Lucius said consolingly, and the woman was _not_ consoled. " _Do_ calm yourself. You'll have a heart attack if you keep sputtering like that."  
  
Petunia was frantic to keep Severus Snape away from the cupboard, but there was nothing she could do - Lucius had stuck her to her seat.  
  
"Now, I'm just going to ask a few questions, and you will answer them. Once we're done, I plan to take your nephew far away from here, and you shall never see him again."  
  
That calmed Petunia down a bit, and she only glanced nervously back towards Severus, who merely muttered an _alohamora_ and kicked open the door with extreme predjudice.  
  
"Who brought your nephew to your home?" Lucius asked calmly.  
  
"I don't know." Petunia pouted. "He was left on our doorstep in November, like a bottle of milk, or the morning post."  
  
"How was your relationship with your sister?" Lucius asked his next question, ignoring the way that Harry had been casually dumped on a muggle doorstep on a cold November morning.  
  
"She was always a little prat, but she got worse when she started going to that freak school." The woman sniffed.  
  
Meanwhile, Harry looked up with shock as the man he'd only seen from across an ice-cream parlor crashed into his _(hidden)_ room, and he pulled out his wand.  
  
"Stay back!" Harry shouted, and the man raised his hands in surrender.  
  
"Harry. Oh god, you have her eyes." The man murmured, and Harry flinched.  
  
"Eyes? What are you talking about?" His first thought was of an odd jar of stolen eyeballs, and he was fairly certain he didn't have one of those lying around.  
  
"Lily's eyes." The man whispered intensely. "You have her eyes."  
  
It was then that Harry realized what he meant. This man knew his mother. _He had his mother's eyes._  
  
"My name is Severus Snape." The man introduced himself and extended a hand. "And I'm -"  
  
"My godfather-!" Harry interrupted, with a voice full of awe, and dashed forward to wrap his mother's best friend in a warm, tight hug. Severus stumbled with the force of the tackle, and didn't question how Harry knew who he was. He just leaned into the hug, and for the first time in ten years, felt just a little bit better. 


	10. Chapter 10

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, beaming brightly in a way that made him look so much like Lily it hurt.  
  
"It's a long story." Severus muttered, and noticed with relief that Harry looked healthier than when he'd stumbled into the ice cream shop. "Suffice it to say, I'm taking you out of here. I presume you know my relationship to your mother?"  
  
"You were her best friend, like a brother, or so her book said." Harry nodded.  
  
"You really shouldn't tell people your book can talk, Harry. Even in the magical world, that's not normal." Severus commented wryly as he glanced around the room. He couldn't tell how much of the decor was Missy, and how much was Harry's own invention. The elf had told them about how ingenious he was, and how brilliant at transfiguration.  
  
"I've never told anyone a thing about my book being anything other than a family heirloom." Harry explained, looking at Severus like he didn't enjoy his intelligence being insulted. "But you helped make it, didn't you? Anything I say about it, you likely already know."  
  
Severus smiled brightly, and nodded. He looked the spitting image of James Potter, but Harry was every bit like Lily in the style of his intelligence - he was so cunning - now that the war was over, Severus was certain he'd sort to Slytherin.  
  
"Er, before we go, can I show you around?" Harry asked, almost shyly. "I hate living with my Aunt and Uncle, but this room is sort of like my sanctuary. I'm very proud of it."  
  
"Of course, Harry." Severus smiled. "I'm curious to see just how much of this is your own doing."  
  
"Oh yeah," Harry blushed. "I guess you were the one sending all those gifts, right? My friend and I thought it might have been delivered by a house elf."  
  
"It was." Severus nodded. "Mr. Malfoy and I thought it would be grand to treat 'Harold Figg' to a better life. We were looking for _you_ , you see, and the man who denied my custody was keeping you hidden. The little boy I met in the ice cream parlor reminded me of you, because he looked to be your age. I wanted to help him because of that."  
  
"I'm so glad you did." Harry smiled widely. "Having breakfast and dinner every day is grand, and I love my new quilt."  
  
Severus resisted the urge to go strangle his best friend's sister as he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying not to let the anger show on his face.  
  
"This is my potions set!" Harry exclaimed proudly, barely noticing Severus as he pointed out his home-made cauldron and phials. They were mostly all filled with potions, labeled in a child's shaky hand.  
  
 _Calming draught. Dreamless sleep. Skele-gro. Bruise balm._  
  
Severus randomly snatched a little glass bottle, and sniffed the contents, nodding approvingly. It helped to distract him from the _types_ of potions he saw the boy had made.  
  
"This is great work for a boy of your age, Harry." Severus praised. He was self-taught, and still better at potions than Draco, if only by a margin. He clearly had his mother's talent for potions and charms, and all his father's boundless skill in Transfiguration.  
  
"Thanks, Uncle Severus." Harry grinned, and Snape felt something inside his cold dead heart returning to life.  
  
"I have to brew them really well, because I use my potions. I don't just make them for fun or practice."  
  
And then Severus felt his heart shrivel again.  
  
"Where did you get the ingredients?" The adult tried to change the subject, lest he be tempted to go on a murderous rampage.  
  
"I wrote a note to the elf, and asked for the ingredients I couldn't get from the garden or supermarket. Did you know a lot of ingredients are sold as muggle supplements?" Harry smiled proudly. "I'd really like to know that elf's name, so I can thank them for being so good and kind to me."  
  
"The elf we assigned to take care of you is named Missy," Severus answered (this muggle naivete and sweetness was also so reminiscent of Lily's pre-Hogwarts years). "She's very fond of children. She was quite happy to help you, and only stayed hidden because she was under orders. We didn't want to startle you, and we all agreed it would be more fun if all the new things appeared like magic."  
  
Severus frowned then, but it quickly became another smile as he shook his head ruefully.  
  
"It seems you were too clever for that, Harry." He smiled proudly down at Lily's son. "You figured it out immediately."  
  
"It was only because of Hermione's help." Harry shrugged, smiling shyly. "She's a muggleborn, like my mum, and she's very good at magic."  
  
"If she's a muggleborn, how did she know about house elves?" Snape asked, suddenly suspicious of anyone who could be a spy for people wanting to do Harry harm. Even as a half-blood, knowing what elves were, he was still startled by his first sight of them.  
  
"I've been lending her my books." Harry explained. "We've been shrinking them down and sending them with Hedwig."  
  
"Hedwig?" Snape asked, bewildered, and not even broaching the subject of his shrinking objects at the age of _ten_.  
  
"She's my owl." Harry explained. "I bought her the day I met you, in Diagon Alley."  
  
Severus merely raised an eyebrow. Nothing phased him anymore. His godson was clearly some kind of magical demigod, or a fever dream brought on by grief and fire whiskey, and he could only nod his head and go along with it.  
  
"We have a familiar bond, so she does what I tell her to. I sent her to follow my magical signature home."   
  
Severus' eyebrow raised higher.  
  
"It's a good thing wizards can't follow a magical trail like familiars and elves can, because I'm really too young to be mucking about with wards."  
  
Arguably, he was too young to be mucking around with _any_ of this, but Severus sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was what Lily wanted. This was why she made the horcrux, so that even if she died, all her knowledge would be passed on to Harry. This was Lily's final gift to her son.  
  
"Is something wrong, sir?" Harry asked, back to 'sir' and not 'Uncle Severus'.  
  
"Harry, how do you think _we_ found you? It was by charming a house elf. Wizards _cannot_ trace magical signatures, but they can _certainly_ follow creatures who can."  
  
"Oh." Harry whispered, eyes wide, and face going pale. He suddenly became very still, like a statue on a mountain, and Severus felt that no force of nature could move him, even though he seemed terrified. _(Like a stag in the lights of a vehicle, his mind provided, unhelpfully.)  
_  
"It isn't your fault that you didn't think of it, child." Severus murmured, even though he wanted to scream at Dumbledore for leaving him here in the muggle world without protection. He'd felt a shoddy ward scheme around the house when he arrived, but it felt... Shambled, and tasted of blood magic on the back of his tongue, like a nosebleed and the smell of ozone. He'd thought it was one of Lily's early constructions, placed on her estranged sister's home as a kind of early experiment.  
  
There was no sign that Harry had heard him. He held himself quiet, and still.  
  
"It isn't your job to protect yourself, Harry. It's supposed to be the adults around you who keep you safe." Snape tried again, and something in _that_ made Harry's eyes snap up with a kind of feverish intent.  
  
"D-don't worry, I can _fix_ this." The boy murmured, and the rush of power that surged around him was intoxicating. It was compelling and glorious, and the power of Dumbledore and Voldemort felt weak in comparison. He was a ten year old, for Merlin's sake, but Severus couldn't even lift a finger, because the force of the magic was enough to make his head spin.   
  
From somewhere to his left, Snape heard the flipping of pages, and Lily's book flew open, and smacked Harry in the face, knocking him backwards.  
  
As soon as the boy fell, the magical maelstrom stopped, and Harry sat up, rubbing his forehead and fixing his glasses back upon his face.  
  
"What was that for?" He asked the book, a little irritated, and Severus watched as the book wrote back a reply, and Harry nodded, seemingly lost in thought. Then he turned to his godfather with a sheepish look.  
  
"The book seems to think that putting up a standard trespassing ward is a bad idea."  
  
"Considering that _I_ am technically a trespasser, I have to agree." Severus deadpanned, and resisted the urge to glare. It was bad to glare at abused children, he told himself, no matter how _stupid_ their tendencies. Harry blushed.  
  
"S-sorry." The child murmured, and Severus shook his head with a wry smile.  
  
"No harm done, Harry. It's just a bit overwhelming, is all." Snape sighed, but smiled at Harry to show he wasn't upset. "To put this in perspective for you, I have _never_ , in all my years as a teacher, seen a boy as magically powerful as you, Harry. When put next to a normally powerful boy like Draco, he doesn't even compare to you, like a blip on the radar. Your Myrddin rating must be _off the charts_ , Harry."  
  
He was no longer secretly afraid that the savior of the wizarding world was not humble enough.  
  
"Frankly, it makes some sense, because your father was the most powerful wizard of his generation, and your mum was a bloody genius." Severus sighed, and he did not think too hard about the fact that this still didn't account for all of it. James Potter at age eleven was still a damn eleven year old. Harry Potter at age _ten_ was more powerful than Dumbledore. Undoubtedly.  
  
This was sort of concerning, on multiple levels.  
  
Harry didn't notice his godfather's intense look, because he latched onto something the man had just said.  
  
"My mum was a genius?"  
  
Severus glanced down again, and nodded stiffly.  
  
"Yes." He replied, a smile creeping across his face despite himself. "She invented so many charms, potions, and wards, that half the money in the Potter vaults to _this day_ is thanks to her."  
  
Severus smiled wryly, and his expression changed into a smirk.  
  
"Because of the royalties received every time a spellbook publishes your mother's work, you are a very wealthy boy, Harry."  
  
Instead of the radiant smile he'd expected, Severus got a frown.  
  
"If I have so much money, why was I starving with the Dursleys? If I'm so wealthy and powerful, why did none of the wizarding families want me?" Harry sniffed, more from the implications of his second question than anything else.  
  
"Oh Harry." Severus murmured, and knelt to wrap his godson in a hug. " _Every wizarding family in Britain wanted you_. People who knew your parents. People who loved you for what they believed you could do."  
  
Severus said this a bit vaguely. He did _not_ want to get involved with the boy-who-lived phenomenon.  
  
"The goblins said Dumbledore kept me from being raised by you, Uncle Severus." Harry murmured into his robes, and his shoulders shook, though he was silent - the habit of a child who was scolded for crying too loudly.  
  
"At the time, I agreed with him. I was in no position to raise a child, and I was even living out of the country at the time." Severus explained. "But because I loved Lily, I got my act together. I claimed my ancestral home, and hired goblin warders to make it safe. Then I petitioned the Wizengamot to give me custody of you, but Dumbledore overruled me again."  
  
"It had taken me three years to accomplish all this, and Dumbledore argued that after three years, you were likely settled in your new home, and it would be a bad idea to move you."  
  
"When I was three, I was locked in a cupboard at night!" Harry exclaimed. "I remember crying for hours, and no one so much as _looked_ at me!"  
  
Severus held Harry tighter.  
  
"I know, Harry. As soon as I realized you were here with _Petunia_ , I came to get you right away, and we'll deal with the legal problems later." Severus sneered. "I knew her as a girl, and she hasn't much improved since then."  
  
Harry chuckled sadly, and then looked with dismay at his godfather's robes.  
  
"I'm sorry for crying all over you." Harry sniffed.  
  
"Don't worry about that, Harry." Snape smiled so warmly, that it seemed his eyes were a source of hope. He was so _proud_. "I'm just so glad you're alive and healthy."  
  
By the time they had taken a tour of the room, and made a list of everything Harry wanted to take with him, it was going on four in the afternoon, and Vernon Dursley would be home any minute. The adult and the boy emerged from under the stairs, and Severus magically locked the cupboard door to keep Petunia from snooping around before the elves could get Harry's things.  
  
Lucius was sitting on the sofa, with a cup of tea that was served on very nice china, but which he looked at with distaste. He was no longer holding Petunia Dursley hostage, and she was bustling _(loudly)_ around the kitchen. Dudley Dursley was sitting across from Lucius on a recliner, and they seemed to be having a stimulating conversation.  
  
"My mum and dad say Harry's a freak. Are you a freak too?"  
  
Lucius' eyebrow twitched. From the kitchen, a steaming kettle whistled.  
  
"Your cousin _isn't_ a freak. He is, in fact, a landed noble, and possibly the wealthiest boy in Britain. Consider yourself lucky that lords are no longer allowed to execute peasants at will."  
  
Dudley scoffed, and looked unconvinced.  
  
"You're making that up. Harry's parents were crazy, and his dad was a drunk. You're just trying to pull my leg."  
  
"Do I _look_ like the sort of person who goes around playing tricks on children because I find it _amusing_?" Lucius asked in a drawl, and looked as if his soul might leave his body if the conversation didn't get better very soon.  
  
"Come on, Lucius. We're done here." Severus smiled at his friend, sitting very uncomfortably straight on the muggle sofa. He glanced at the sticky hands and muddy face of Dudley, and gave an involuntary shudder.  
  
They all made their way out of the horrible house without saying another word to the Dursleys, and considered themselves lucky that they left before having to deal with Vernon. Severus had never seen him personally, but Lily described him after she went to her sister's wedding, and the man had sounded positively awful. Lucius looked relieved to be out of the house - he was germophobic at the best of times, and frankly, muggle houses _scared_ him. He had no idea that the place was obsessively cleaned by Harry, but he saw the horrible fat little fingers of Dudley, all covered with unidentified grime, and it made him want to apparate to another _country_.  
  
"Take hold of my arm, Harry." Severus told the boy, once they'd walked a few paces away from the house. "I'm going to take us home."  
  
Harry grabbed onto his godfather's arm, and was yanked into the pull of apparition, flying to Prince Manor and his new life.


	11. Chapter 11

In another town in England, Hermione started her own morning routine. Crookshanks purred next to her, and she poured him kibble as she poured her own cereal. Luckily, she was awake enough that she didn't get the two confused.  
  
Her parents had already gone to their practice, but Hermione was used to taking care of herself. As always, when she was alone in her house, Hermione kept her thin and long mistletoe wand on her person at all times. It had taken her so long to find a piece that she could reach when she climbed, and that had been thick enough to use as a wand.   
  
(But just the same, she was drawn to it. Nothing else would do.)  
  
She levitated her milk into her cereal with a smirk, and looked over her day planner. Summer did not mean an end to studying, though Hermione merely changed her subjects around.   
  
She started the day by reading in one of the books Harry had sent her, and kept an eye on the time so she didn't just read all day. After that, she did practical exercises with her wand and Crookshanks, and if she was curious about a certain spell, she wrote Harry to ask. Sometimes she wrote back when Hedwig arrived, and sometimes she sent letters the muggle way, in the post. Because Harry took the mail in every morning, he didn't have to worry about his relatives seeing his letters.  
  
Over time, Hermione realized that she had something of a penchant for necromancy, and that was what she and Harry had been talking about lately. Well, that _and_ his mysterious nightly visitor. She'd gotten so advanced that she could resurrect small birds and mammals. Crookshanks brought her a lot of mice to experiment on, and she had gotten very precise - she could make her little rodents almost as good as new. Her spells didn't seem to have any time limit either - she'd kept one of them in a cage for weeks now, and he was still going strong.  
  
Her parents also hadn't noticed she had a new pet, and she wasn't holding out hope that they ever would. They'd commented on all the stamps she used, but Hermione explained that she had a pen friend from another school's exchange program. (When she told Harry about that, he was very amused.) Her parents didn't even bother to check the name on the envelope afterward.  
  
Sometimes Hermione wondered whether her distant parents were a curse or a blessing. She wanted them to love her as much as she loved them, but she didn't mind that they never asked questions about what she got up to. If they were more accepting of magic, she might be willing to share with them, but as things were, she would rather be ignored than in trouble.  
  
... _Right?_  
  
Hermione shook off the despair that seemed to creep up inside of her stomach every time she paused in her work long enough to think about it. When she started to feel heavy and sad, she always threw herself into more work, and it usually made her feel better. Crookshanks helped too, rubbing his broad head against her leg, and purring soothingly.  
  
Hedwig also helped, because every time she flew up to the window, it meant a message from Harry, her only link to the magical world - a world that she was beginning to feel was more her home than her little white suburban house would ever be.  
  
That morning, Hedwig appeared with a flutter at her bedroom window, and looked hungrily at her pet mouse in his cage. Hermione raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Really Hedwig? You act as if Harry doesn't feed you. I know his mysterious visitor brought him a big box of frozen mice. There's no need to stare at _mine_."  
  
Hedwig gave a fluttery little bark of irritation, and extended her foot so that the girl could unwrap the scroll sent from Harry. She gave Hedwig one of Crookshanks' treats, and gave her a look when she stayed right where she was on the window sill.  
  
"Well? Go on, Hed. I know you don't trust the muggle post, but it always worked fine before you came along."  
  
Hedwig huffed at that, and clicked her beak before crunching down on the treat and settling into a ball on the window.  
  
"Did Harry tell you to wait for a reply?" Hermione asked, once it became clear that the bird was going nowhere. Hedwig gave something like a bird shrug, and the witch rolled her eyes. Hedwig was such a drama queen.  
  
"You're lucky you're so cute, or I'd hold that prissy attitude against you." Hermione smiled softly as she spoke to the owl, and Hedwig tilted her head and gave a happy chirp. The owl settled, still watching the little gray mouse peeping out of the newspaper shreddings in his cage, and the owl was watched in turn by Crookshanks, whose tail swished back and forth like a pendulum.  
  
Hermione opened her letter, smiling at the familiar scratches and ink splotches of Harry's quillwork. He was so messy with quills that she wondered why he even bothered, but he'd insisted on acting like a "proper wizard" and Hermione had scoffed and told him that Draco Malfoy was being a bad influence. She half-meant it, because she was still afraid that Harry would be swayed to the pureblood way of thinking, and leave her behind because she was a muggleborn. Losing her only friend was too painful to even think about, but as the letters from Harry kept coming, like clockwork, she began to accept that he truly liked her, and wouldn't just abandon her like she'd feared. She read between the lines in his words, and realized that doing everything the "wizarding way" wasn't a means for Harry to get closer to Draco.  
  
It was a way to feel closer to his _parents_.  
  
And Hermione would never, ever, begrudge him that.  
  
 _Dear Hermione,  
So many things have happened since the last time we spoke. You'll never believe the wonderful things that have happened to me. Last Thursday, my godfather quite suddenly appeared in my relatives' house, and kinda, sort-of kidnapped me? Here's the even weirder part - he was with Draco's father, who's been helping him look for me all these years! That's part of why I told Hedwig to wait for your reply. I won't be living with the Dursleys anymore, so you'll no longer be able to send your letters to that address.   
  
On top of that, Uncle Severus says that most wizarding homes have muggle repelling wards that would prevent a postman from finding them. Don't worry about having to rely on Hedwig though - my godfather told me he would help me set up a wizarding post account for you to use, and I'll explain it more for you once I understand it better myself_.  
  
Hermione smiled at that, and turned to Hedwig, who was still eyeing her mouse hungrily.  
  
"So you're waiting for a reply, huh girl?"  
  
The owl squawked indignantly, and didn't take her eyes off of Hermione's pet (or was it magical science experiment?) until Crooks let out a low growl that startled her. Hermione liked to think that Crookshanks was protecting her property, but it was more likely that he just wanted the mouse for himself.  
  
"Trust me, Hedwig." Hermione laughed, recalling how she'd gotten the mouse in the first place. "You don't want to eat that. He's undead, and he'll give you indigestion."  
  
The girl wryly shook her head at Hedwig's odd-little scoff, and turned back to her letter.  
  
 _So now I'm living with my godfather, and I've never been so happy in my entire life. He has a house elf named Cappy, and he's treated very nicely by my Uncle Severus. He was actually rescued from a master who abandoned him, and Severus told me that if you're interested in elf rights, you might want to read about house elf shelters like Hogwarts, that take on elves temporarily, until they can find new homes. I've actually met lots of house-elves since moving away from the Dursleys, including Missy, the elf who delivered all the gifts I found in my cupboard. She's a Malfoy family elf, and they took an interest in me when we met in the ice-cream shop.  
  
I also met an elf named Dobby, who is Draco's personal elf. He has some sort of mental illness, sort of like what muggles call an anxiety disorder. Every time he thinks he's done something wrong, he cries about being a bad elf, and often tries to hurt himself. Draco said that most elves who have problems like that are abandoned or killed by their owners - it would be brilliant if someone set up a kind of facility or something to help them, like a therapy office for elves. Most wizards don't actually understand mental health all that well, so it's no surprise that no-one thought to apply it to elves.  
_  
Hermione smiled at that. It was one of the things she liked about Harry. He didn't think she was weird for thinking about house elves, and while he wasn't nearly as vehement about it, he gave her all the relevant information he knew, and he always indulged her experiments and researches.  
  
 _Anyway, I can't wait for you to come visit me at Prince's Nook. That's Uncle Severus' manor, and he promised me that he'd talk to your parents about magic, and get them to understand you're a witch. He was raised as a muggle, like us, so he can also act like a non-magical person if that would make your parents more comfortable. He was very impressed when I showed him some of our letters, and he seems to think that meeting a 'real' muggleborn would be a good experience for Draco. I'd really like for you two to meet - wouldn't it be fun if my two best friends were friends with each other too?_  
  
Hermione fought back the urge to scowl. She was glad that Harry trusted his godfather enough to show him some of their correspondence, and she trusted Harry not to reveal anything private - most of their letters were academic in nature, and she felt a little glow of pride at the thought that an adult found her research 'impressive,' as opposed to freakish, unusual, or otherwise strange.  
  
She did not, however, like the idea of meeting Draco- _purer-than-thou-_ Malfoy. He sounded positively frightful, just like the kids she hated at school, who judged her for absolutely _everything_ , and called her awful names. The thought of having more than one friend was very tempting though, and the fact that Harry approved of him made Hermione feel just a bit better about the idea. Harry was a bit trusting (he now had authority figures in his life that he _could_ trust) but he was generally a good judge of character.  
  
No, the real reason Hermione didn't trust Draco was very simple. She was deeply, _painfully_ jealous of him. He seemed to have parents who appreciated and praised his magical ability. They accepted him as a magical being, and they seemed (by Harry's observation, at least) to be attentive and doting parents. Draco had Harry's attention, and now that he was free from the Dursleys, he was probably seeing the boy more and more often, and unlike Hermione, their relationship didn't need to be confined to written letters on a page, secret wishes blessed by owls.  
  
Hermione pressed her face into her pillow and muffled an angry scream. It was so _unfair_ , and not for the first time, Hermione wished desperately that she had been born into a wizarding family. Even with all her books and her pets, and her best friend Harry, she still felt so achingly _alone_. The witch crumpled her letter to her chest and glanced at the window. Hedwig was still there, grooming her fluffy breast feathers with little clicks of her beak.  
  
"Oh Crookshanks," the girl murmured to her cat. "What am I going to do?"  
  
The cat gave a hoarse little meow and lept onto her bed. He looked into Hermione's eyes, and pressed his forehead to hers, giving out a low purr that seemed to resonate through her entire body like a heartbeat. And suddenly, Hermione was no longer herself. She was someone entirely different, and the world was arrayed before her in shades of grey and green and blue.  
  
She realized, with a start, that she was viewing the world through Crookshanks' eyes - this was how he saw the world. The cat was showing her a memory, a memory of the upstairs landing just outside her bedroom, cast in darkness, but a darkness that her familiar viewed in startling luminance. Hermione followed the cat downstairs, and saw her parents sitting on the loveseat sofa, staring into the fire with a nearly empty bottle of wine.  
  
"I just don't understand it, Richard." Hermione's mother said, with a hiccup. "I hear her talking in her room with the door locked. She's saying the strangest things. It sounds almost like Latin, but with different suffixes - and, and the _tenses_ wrong."  
  
The girl realized with a sort of sinking dread that her mother had heard her practicing spells. The style of most British spells were in a sort of psuedo-latin, because the original spells were developed that way, before the fall of the Roman empire. Modern spells used Latin (or at least Latin _roots)_ because it was an ancient language connected closely to Western magical culture, and because it was tradition.  
  
"I spoke with the parish priest this afternoon, and he agreed that at the very least, our little girl is pretending to be a sorcerer of some kind. I know she told us she stopped playing wizards and witches since we moved, but I've seen her carrying around a carved stick that might be a wand. And if she's speaking in tongues..."  
  
"Richard!" Jean Granger gasped with a little sob. "You don't think...?"  
  
"Father Andrews agrees with me that it's concerning." Hermione's father continued, looking dully into the flames with shadowed eyes. "He's going to come visit next weekend, the fourteenth, and talk with Hermione to see if there's anything we should worry about."  
  
"And if there _is_?" Jean cried, wiping her eyes with a sleeve as a wave of fresh tears swept over her. Her husband wrapped an arm around her and seemed not to blink.  
  
"Then he'll perform an exorcism, and our daughter will have this, this _evil_ stamped out of her."  
  
"Oh Rich," Jean sobbed into his shoulder now, "Remember when she was a baby, and she made all her books and toys float? Remember how she made _herself_ float?"  
  
"It wasn't Hermione." Richard scowled. "If anything, that was some... _Thing_. Some _entity_ inside our child."  
  
 _That was accidental magic!_ Hermione wanted to scream, but she was in her familiar's mind, in a memory without her voice.  
  
Hermione felt such guilt and sadness mingled with the fear that she'd been discovered. The dread of having a priest come near her for an exorcism she didn't believe in. She'd seen the videos in her new Catholic school (a place with people who still believed very much in the existence of demons). She knew how painful and frightening it looked. Her mother was crying, sobbing her eyes out because of _her_. Her father was so angry, and they'd drunk almost a bottle already.  
  
They were always so distant, like they'd never really wanted a daughter at all, and Hermione was furious that they were only concerned for her now that she was practicing magic. They hadn't cared when she was being bullied. They hadn't cared when she hadn't made a single friend, and they gave her all the books she wanted so she'd leave them alone and stop being a nuisance.  
  
Hermione came out of the memory sobbing, and knew why Crookshanks had showed it to her. He was helping her make her decision.  
  
"You're right. You're right of course, Crooks," Hermione cried into his soft orange fur. "I'm not safe here. I need to write Harry and get his advice. If worst comes to worst, I can run away. I'd rather take the Knight Bus and run to the wizarding world, even if I don't know where to go."  
  
Crookshanks meowed, his usual rough and low little greeting call, and Hermione sniffed.  
  
"At least I'd be with my _own kind._ " The girl spat. She had never met one muggle who was kind to her. Her parents loved her in their own way, she supposed, but all the others in her primary school thought she was weird and horrible, and criticized her wildly curly hair and her slightly large front teeth. She knew, logically, that it was stupid to condemn an entire race of humans just because the ones she'd encountered had been awful, but emotionally, she was a child who'd been hurt, and in a way, she didn't care.  
  
She had never felt so alone.


	12. Interlude I

**September 20th, 1978 - Mabon**

* * *

The greatest of treasures, more precious than gold. / The gift to the young, passed down from the old. / As we tend to the roots, so the tree tip will flower. / And sweet to the soul, the fruit of the bower.

\- _Germanic Rune Poem: Othala_

* * *

  
"I still don't understand why you care about this old junk." Sirius muttered from somewhere behind her, and Lily Evans tried very hard not to roll her eyes.  
  
"I mean, what's the point of all these dusty old _books_?" The man continued, saying _books_ as if the accumulated literature of a lifetime amounted to little more than a glorified pile of kindling. Lily counted to ten and took very deep breaths.  
  
James had gone to the Burrow to help with the Weasleys' new twins. Some children cried a lot. Some children threw up on you at the worst possible times. Some children made things fly about the room and whack you on the head, and that was the type of children Fred and George were. James had been called, because warding was a specialty of Potter magic, and he had an idea about a ward that would help contain a new baby's accidental magic without hurting or stunting their magical core. James had come up with the idea, consulted his family spellbooks, and Lily helped with the arithmancy.  
  
That was how, on a perfectly fine autumn day, Lily had ended up baby-sitting Sirius Black and going through the ancient collections of one of James' late relatives. For reasons unknown to her, Dorea Potter had left Lily her entire library, and sorting through it all would go so much faster if Sirius would stop gawking and help.  
  
"Why did the old bird leave you all this, anyhow?" Sirius continued his terribly helpful commentary. "You never actually met her in person, did you?"  
  
"I presume it was because she had no children of her own, Padfoot." Lily mused aloud.  
  
"Those Black genes, I suppose." Sirius tutted, and Lily raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Dorea Potter was originally part of the Black family?" The young woman asked, her curiousity piqued.  
  
"Mm-hm. The Black family is known for having fertility problems. _I_ had to be conceived in ritual, and my mother told me _often_ how much she regretted it."  
  
Lily went back to ignoring him as she studied the ancient tomes and spellbooks, and she felt at home, in a way she had never felt before.  
  
"Did your mother bind her magic?" Lily asked off-hand. She'd recently heard about the practice, and was glad that James hadn't brought it up. It always gave her an odd little shudder to think about hampering her innate abilities in any way, though research seemed to show that witches who did it didn't seem to suffer any ill effects. It was to ensure the first child carried the paternal magic, and wasn't meant to afrect the mother, after all, but something about the concept seemed... Barbaric to her.  
  
"My mother didn't need to." Sirius scoffed. "She was already a Black."  
  
Lily swiveled her head to look at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me?"  
  
"First cousins." The man sighed offhandedly. "A real tangle, our family tree is..."  
  
Lily went back to skimming through the books while Sirius waxed poetic. She noticed a handwritten journal among the pile, written in delicate, swirling quill strokes, and the blackest ink. It hadn't faded a bit over the years.  
  
"Sirius, do wizards know about genetics?" Lily asked, skimming through the first pages.   
  
"Gen- _what_ -icks? What brought on _that_ question?" The man asked with a faint look of distaste, as he showed towards any subject that might require more thought than Quidditch.  
  
"Apparently, Dorea Potter knew about it. This notebook is all about her advances in the study, based on the works of the muggle scientist Charles Darwin."  
  
She didn't expect Sirius to understand how big this was. She didn't expect him to really even humor her, because his head was so far up his arse in childish rebellion that he didn't care about anything except what was right in front of him, and entirely relied on James or Remus to tell him what to do. Knowing this, and being okay with it were two different things.  
  
"Seriously, Lils. Why do you even care about this? Every time we hang out, it's 'wizarding this', and 'wizardry that' - why does it matter so much to you?" Sirius huffed dramatically, and Lily felt the familiar irritation rolling in her magic. She reminded herself to take calming breaths, and stood from the box of books she was unpacking.  
  
"It's about cultural heritage, Sirius." Lily sighed, thinking back to her days in a white-washed suburban house, in a bland suburban neighborhood, where everyone was more or less the same. Where people went to church on Sundays because it was proper, and not because they believed in it.  
  
"You _have_ a cultural heritage!" Sirius scoffed. "You're a muggle!"  
  
Lily actually had to pause for a second, because her eyes got wide, and she needed to _process_ this new stupidity. She let it filter into her mind, and roll around a bit, and then she narrowed her eyes and frowned. It was the calm before the storm.  
  
The man could feel her aura flare now, and it was more powerful than his mother's - right before she cast the crucio. He felt his magic concede as easily as he did, bending under Lily's power like a reed in the wind, and he breathed a quick thanks to the gods and all his ancestors that she didn't try to snap him like a twig. Merlin only knew her real strength, because he didn't think Lily did.  
  
"... Isn't it?" Sirius replied, in a tone that said he was having second thoughts.  
  
"No. It is _not_." Lily glared, getting a little wrinkle between her eyebrows, and the animagus swallowed hard.  
  
"If I had to name my culture," Lily continued, "I'd say, perhaps, white Anglo-Saxon, or English. I would _not_ classify my birth-culture as _muggle_."  
  
Sirius smiled sheepishly, Lily sank down onto a nearby chair with a sigh.  
  
"The point is, my family didn't really _have_ a cultural heritage. There was nothing in my upbringing that linked me to my ancestors. I didn't even know my grandparents, growing up. We went to church because everyone else did, but I didn't grow up believing in it. I... I don't know where I came from."  
  
"And even though I'll never _fully_ be part of this world, I wish I _could_ be. Especially now that my parents are gone. I'm so interested in pureblood culture, because you can all trace your family tree back hundreds of generations. You have a whole _holiday_ devoted to celebrating your ancestors!" Lily smiled wryly, before looking up at Sirius again with teary eyes. "For all your family's terrible flaws, Sirius, at least you know where you come from."  
  
Sirius swallowed, and Lily had never seen him so somber. He might never have been so solemn in his entire life.  
  
"I didn't know you felt that way." The man finally said. "For so many years, I've rejected every part of my heritage offhand, and I never stopped to think about how an outsider might feel."  
  
"There are really only two types of purebloods." Lily replied with a crooked smile. "The ones who look at muggles like insects to be squashed, and the ones who look at them like insects to be studied."  
  
Sirius hated to admit it, but he knew it was true. Merlin only knew how many times he'd seen a pureblood look at Lily like some kind of leper, and how many times Arthur Weasley accosted her to ask about some bullshit like if muggles had indoor plumbing, or how they cooked their food... Sirius hated to admit it, but it was true, and he'd always been the second kind of pureblood, viewing everything Lily showed him from the muggle world as a kind of curiousity, like motorbikes and take-out and drive-in-movies.  
  
Lily never viewed wizarding culture that way. To her, it was something beautiful, even the bad parts. To a woman who had been raised with no history and no traditions, magic had become her faith, and her faith became magic.  
  
"Listen," Sirius laughed, and it was like all his personality flowed back into him when he smiled. "If you're so interested in it, I'll teach you."  
  
"Really?" Lily asked, feeling just a little bit better.  
  
"Yeah. Everything about pureblood culture and history, and traditions. We'll celebrate all the holidays, and I'll tell you everything I know."  
  
"Thank you, Padfoot." The redhead exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, and letting out a happy sigh. Sirius was pleased she was no longer using his real name.  
  
"Yeah, yeah... After all, we can't let the future Lady Potter be _entirely_ ignorant of her Noble House and privileges."  
  
 _(That was his contribution to their son, Lily thought, later. Even though he couldn't be godfather, Sirius made sure Harry would not be ignorant of his heritage. Along with the stories she wrote and the pictures she drew, and Severus' protection, Sirius offered the heritage, the blood ties, to her horcrux.)_


	13. Chapter 13

**Arc Two: The Cuckoo Bird**

  
"Can we take the bus?" Harry asked, as he and his guardian dressed and got ready to visit the muggle world.   
  
"It's not very comfortable..." Severus deflected, and there was only a flash of regret in the child's eyes before he nodded.  
  
"Okay."  
  
If Severus hadn't gotten to know Harry over the past two weeks, he wouldn't have even noticed. But Harry seemed quite set on taking the Knight Bus.  
  
"But," Severus began, and Harry's eyes lit up. "It could be a valuable learning experience."  
  
So they dressed in crisp muggle-style clothes, and Severus helped Harry clean his new glasses. When they walked out the door, Harry's hand migrated to find his godfather's, almost subconsciously, as if Harry needed to remind himself that he wasn't alone any more.  
  
Hermione's letter had been startling, and made Severus think too much about his father, something he'd not thought of in years. Tobias Snape had been a religious zealot too. It was why he'd never divorced his wife when he discovered she was a witch. When he suspected he'd been potioned. He'd rather try to beat the magic out of his wife and son than try to understand it, and while Hermione's parents had never been violent towards her before now, religion could make people do strange and terrible things.  
  
Harry, probably due to his childhood, wasn't nearly as alarmed by the letter as Severus had been. To him, being locked in a closet for his heritage was normal. He knew it wasn't _right_ , but it was _expected_. The muggle police and child protective services had never stepped in to rescue Harry, so he didn't expect the muggles to be able to help Hermione either. Severus was under the impression that muggle social services might step in if there was proof of abuse, but by what he understood, threats of an exorcism weren't really a type of abuse. Severus was unversed in the muggle legal system, which was part of why he wanted to make this visit personally.  
  
He wasn't the world's greatest legilimens, but reading a muggle's mind wasn't hard. He wanted to pry just a little bit, and see if there was any danger on the surface. Despite how their society treated muggleborns, protecting a magical child from muggles was full within his legal rights.  
  
Harry watched with awe as his guardian summoned the bus with a wave of his wand, and the odd amalgamation of wizard and muggle technology roared onto the street before them. It was far and away the strangest thing he'd ever seen, and that made it even more fun.  
  
Once they got on the bus, Severus let Harry choose their seat, and he selected the bounciest sofa in the whole vehicle (as proven by his light little test bounce). Lily had been like that too, Snape thought. She'd found fun in the dullest things, because anything magical was beautiful and good in her eyes. She'd enjoyed the smelly, raucous Knight Bus too.  
  
Snape cast a privacy charm around their seat so that they could talk without eavesdroppers, and Harry smiled.  
  
"I can do that too!" He exclaimed proudly.  
  
"I have no doubt you can." Snape drolly replied. "But I'm very glad you didn't."  
  
"Why?" Harry asked.  
  
"Because it's technically illegal for a child under eleven to use a wand off of Hogwarts grounds. And because your aura is very distinctive - until we can track down the Potter family grimoire and get hold of your father's aura-compressing ward, I imagine you might cause quite a stir casting anything at all."  
  
The boy recalled how Severus had felt when Harry let his aura flare out, so he nodded and set his mouth in a firm agreement.  
  
"Understood, Uncle Sev." He said, and then he suddenly remembered something the man had just said. "You mean my dad invented a ward for that?"  
  
"Yes." The Potions Master nodded. "I had many problems with your father, but his magical ability was not one of them."  
  
"Could you... Could you tell me about him?" Harry asked with an expression of hope that was almost physically painful to look at.  
  
Snape sighed. He couldn't say no to that face.  
  
"Your father, well..." Severus shook his head and smiled, a bit sadly. "When we first came to Hogwarts, we _hated_ each other. He pulled the nastiest pranks on me, and got all his little friends to help him."  
  
"That doesn't sound very nice." Harry noted.  
  
"It wasn't, and for the most part, your mother took no notice of him in her first years, and she stood up for me very often. I later learned that James had carried a huge crush on Lily from the moment he saw her on the Hogwarts Express, and he was so cruel to me because he thought I was his rival."  
  
"And you weren't?" Harry asked with a crooked smile.  
  
"No. Once he found out that I loved Lily like a sister, our hostilities fell off almost entirely. We both wanted to be friends with your mum, and that wouldn't be possible if we were fighting all the time."  
  
"So you called a truce because you found common ground?" Harry asked. He hadn't expected the complicated relationship between his father and godfather. He had thought that to be trusted as his second father, Severus had to have been liked and trusted by both his parents.  
  
"Yes. In those early years, I had my own friend group among Slytherin house, and Lily spent most of her time with Alice Jenkins. Of course, where Alice was, Frank Longbottom was always there too, so the three of them were good friends."  
  
Severus was caught up in his story, filtering through memories like flashbacks, and touching on the faces of every one of his friends. He didn't even notice Harry's quiet sniffle until the boy spoke.  
  
"They got married, didn't they? Frank and Alice?" Harry asked, a little sad. A little quiet.  
  
"Yes. They did." Severus smiled sadly. "How did you know?"  
  
"I recognized the names." Harry sniffed. "The goblins told me that Alice Longbottom was my godmother, and she couldn't take me because she was in hospital."  
  
"Yes." Severus nodded severely. "They were both hurt in the war, and they were incapable of caring for their own infant son, much less two."  
  
"They had a son? I have a godbrother!?" Harry exclaimed, suddenly excited and happy again. "What's his name? Where does he live? Can I meet him?"  
  
"To answer your questions in order, yes, you actually have two godbrothers, because I happen to have another godson, whom you've already met." Severus smirked, and watched Harry's mind work. The only other wizarding boy he'd ever met was...  
  
"Draco!? Draco Malfoy is my godbrother?" Harry exclaimed, the force of his excitement making his aura flare up in a way that many adults would kill to be able to do. It nearly bowled Severus over, like a tangible thing, and he let the magic fall around him, tasting of copper and spring flowers in the back of his mouth.  
  
"Is - is something wrong?" Harry asked shyly, and Severus opened one eye to look at him.  
  
"You're very powerful, Harry. When you got excited, I could feel it, and it was a bit overwhelming, that's all."  
  
"I - I'm sorry sir," Harry murmured, and his magic sank back into him like water into the ground, until his magical signature was normal again.  
  
"There's no need for that." Severus said, a bit more angrily than he wanted to. His anger was directed at the Dursleys, not at Harry. "Some may tell you otherwise, but being a powerful wizard is nothing to apologise for. Control will come with time. Earlier, I didn't want you to cast a spell, but that's because I didn't want to draw attention to us. Now that I've put up the privacy field, no one will even notice, so don't feel guilty."  
  
Harry nodded, subdued, but Severus got the sense that he understood what his godfather was trying to get across, and it was a sort of thoughtful silence.  
  
"To answer your other questions," Severus continued, as if nothing ever happened. "Alice's son is named Neville. He lives in Longbottom Manor with his grandmother, and yes. Once we get you _legally_ settled in, you can definitely meet him."  
  
"It's like the more I learn about the magical world, the more family I discover." Harry mused. "I have a godfather and godbrothers, and so many honorary aunts and uncles that I don't even know yet!"  
  
"Is that a good thing?" Severus asked wryly.  
  
"Yes." Harry nodded seriously. "It's a bit overwhelming, but good."  
  
Then he paused for a moment, and tilted his head.  
  
"How did your magic feel when you met my mom?" Harry asked, with a curious sort of light in his eyes.  
  
"What brought on that question?"  
  
"I was just curious," the boy replied. "When I met Hermione, it was like she was the only girl I'd ever met. The only girl who mattered. She was like color in a black and white movie."  
  
"I see." Severus answered, smiling wryly. "When I met your mother, it was like my magic liked her, and I wanted to be part of her family. That's the only way I can describe it, and I'm not as poetic as you."  
  
"That makes sense though," Harry nodded. "When I met Draco, it was like that. First, I was _so_ jealous. His family looked so happy and beautiful, and I wanted to be part of it. Then, he smiled at me, and it was like I found the other part of myself."  
  
"Sometimes you'll meet other magicals who will make your magic react in different ways. That's normal, and you should trust your instincts."  
  
Severus thought it was still too early to explain the romantic aspect to magical compatibility. It seemed like Hermione and Draco would both be good partners, because his magic saw them both so favorably, though in different ways. He kept that to himself though.  
  
"Draco told me that you're an excellent potions brewer. Is that what you do in your lab all day?" Harry asked, changing the subject easily, as if he sensed Severus was feeling maudlin.  
  
"Yes. I invent and manufacture potions, and I make money off of patents."  
  
"Wow!" Harry grinned. "Can you teach me?"  
  
Severus grimaced.  
  
"A little bit, at least." He chuckled a bit shyly. "The truth is, I'm not a very good teacher."  
  
"What?" Harry exclaimed with a touch of innocent shock. "But you teach me about magic all the time!"  
  
"But not potions. Casting a cleaning spell or levitating a quill is easy. Potion making is an exact science that borders on art, and it requires a precision that most children simply don't possess."  
  
Severus thought for a moment.  
  
"Although... You already show considerable talent in the subject." The potions master said, as he thought back to the rows of healing potions in glass vials in a tiny room under the stairs.   
  
"It's a lot like cooking, sir." Harry smiled.  
  
That seemed to make Snape scowl even harder, but he schooled his features and sighed.  
  
"If you promise to follow my instructions _exactly_ , and learn the proper safety procedures, I suppose I could teach you a bit."  
  
Harry grinned from ear to ear, and nodded just as the bus came to a screeching halt.  
  
"This is our stop." Severus smiled, and offered a hand to his godson. Harry smiled even wider, and they stepped off of the bus together.  
  
Harry and Snape stepped off of the Knight Bus, and into another world: _Suburbia_.  
  
Every home along the row was the same: two stories, white washed little houses with a yard. It reminded Harry of Privet Drive, and he shuddered. Severus felt the same way as he removed the privacy charms from himself and his ward, and grimaced as he rang the doorbell. A harried-looking woman answered the door, her curly hair looking disheveled.  
  
"Pardon us madam," Severus began, and the woman eyed him warily. "I'm Mr. Snape, and this is my son, Harry. He's a friend of your daughter."  
  
"My daughter doesn't have any friends." The woman answered, and her thoughts were right on the surface for Severus to hear.  
  
 _It's him. It must be that awful boy Hermione was writing to. The bad influence_.  
  
Severus put his foot in the door before Mrs. Granger could slam it, and winced as she tried anyway.  
  
"Please just go away," The woman nearly cried, hands firmly on the doorknob, like she might slam it again. "Hermione is - Hermione is grounded."  
  
"Grounded? Might I ask why?"  
  
"My family business is none of your concern." Mrs. Granger said, but her mind spoke differently.  
 _  
Because she wouldn't stop speaking in tongues. Because she's possessed. Because she locked us out of her room and hasn't eaten in days, as far as I can tell -_  
  
Severus frowned deeply at that, and stunned the woman with a sudden flick of his wand. It had been concealed in his arm holster, and he pulled it out now, levitating the woman aside and away from the door.  
  
"Follow me, Harry, and stay alert." Snape ordered, and the boy nodded, glancing just once at Hermione's mother as he passed.  
  
They went upstairs immediately, and Severus knocked at the door that clearly belonged to a young girl. It had a sign hanging on the doorknob that proclaimed the space as 'Hermione's Room: No Parents Allowed.'  
  
Severus nudged the sign with his wand, and the back of it sparked with a very complex warding seal. It was advanced traditional sealing magic, something not even taught at Hogwarts, and how she learned it was perplexing.  
  
"Leave me alone!" A voice from inside the room answered the knock. "I don't want to see your stupid priest, and I don't want to stop doing magic! Just go away."  
  
"Miss Granger." Snape said sharply, in his no-nonsense way. "I am Severus Snape, Harry's guardian. Can you let us in?"  
  
"... Us?" The girl answered slowly and cautiously. "Who's 'us?'"  
  
"Harry and I." The potions master responded, rolling his eyes.  
  
"I'm here too, Hermione." Harry called from behind his godfather, and the both of them heard the click of two locks and the dissipation of a magical ward. The door opened just an inch, long enough for Hermione to confirm that Harry was there, and then she opened it all the way and crushed him in a very tight hug.  
  
"We came to rescue you!" Harry exclaimed. "Well, it was _meant_ to be a playdate, but it's definitely a rescue now."  
  
"What - what do you mean?" Hermione asked, and Severus slipped past her to enter the room.  
  
It was a nice room. There was a sunny window with white curtains, and a bookshelf positively crammed with books. A mouse raced along in a hamster wheel inside of a cage on the dresser, and a cat watched it intently, licking his lips. There was a half empty box of Chinese takeout on a writing desk, and a diagnostic spell showed that it was fresh, only a day old. At least the girl had eaten, Severus thought, and turned to look at her quizzically.  
  
"How have you been eating?" The dour man asked. "Your mother was under the impression that you hadn't come out in days."  
  
Hermione scoffed.  
  
"I use the downstairs phone to call for takeaway, and charm my parents into paying for it. Then I make them forget it ever happened."  
  
Severus couldn't help his jaw dropping.  
  
"You Imperius your parents and obliviate them on a regular basis? Most full-grown wizards can't do that."  
  
"I'm _not_ a wizard though, am I?" Hermione replied sharply. "I'm an extra clever witch."  
  
Then, she glanced away, and added:  
  
"And it isn't the Imperius, _obviously_. I can't risk being caught using an unforgivable. It's just a mild compulsion charm that activates when they answer the doorbell."  
  
Suddenly, Mrs. Granger's reaction to their arrival made a bit more sense. She was conditioned to be confused when someone arrived. Snape wondered what tipped her off, and changed her behavior from compliance to fear? And on that note, Snape already knew that Harry was a magical prodigy, but even _he_ would have trouble maintaining a constant compulsion charm at this age. The _Imperius_ would be _easier_.  
  
Unless...  
  
Something in the aura of the room tasted of dark magic, and Snape wanted to get to the bottom of it. He ran a diagnostic spell on the cat, ignoring Hermione's indignant cry.  
  
"Hey! It's rude to cast spells at other people's pets, you know!" The girl huffed.  
  
"This cat isn't just a pet though, is he? He's a familiar." Severus answered. His diagnostic showed that the half-kneazel was bonded to the girl, fully, and it seemed awfully familiar to him. A familiar familiar.  
  
He ran another test, this time on the mouse in the hamster cage, and frowned intently.  
  
"Hermione, is this mouse... Undead?"  
  
The girl blushed, but she stuck out her chin and glared defiantly, and responded with a clearly rehearsed answer.  
  
"Raising animals from the dead is _not_ illegal. This is according to ruling number forty, sub-section b, of the Department for Magic Usage's Accord on Necromancy."  
  
"You foolish girl," Severus sighed, both frustrated and deeply impressed. "Animal necromancy isn't forbidden by law, if only _barely_. It is most certainly dark magic though, and if anyone from the ministry discovered a muggleborn connected with such a practice, you could be sent to Azkaban without a trial, and fed to the bloody dementors!"  
  
Hermione paled, but she swallowed hard, and the color rushed back to her cheeks like a fever.  
  
"So what? It comes naturally to me. Would you stop me from practicing my magical birthright?"  
  
Snape's head spun, and it was like looking at a little Lily Evans again, with her hands on her hips, and a scowl on her face, trying to blackmail the hat into putting her in Slytherin. Telling Severus that her magic was _dark_ , punching Petunia Dursley in the nose for calling her a freak. A muggleborn who was powerful, and proud of it, and not afraid to practice her family rites.  
  
Severus sighed, and shook his head wearily. "No. Not me, not personally."  
  
"But there will be others." Harry interjected. "The book told me about that. There are people in the wizarding world who don't want the magic they call 'dark' to ever be used."  
  
"Why?" Hermione insisted, crossing her arms petulantly. "Magic is magic! Intention is what makes something good or bad. It's like my granddad used to say, the weapon isn't evil. It's the people who use it for evil."  
  
Snape simply plopped down in a desk chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I agree with you, Miss Granger. I really do. But now is not the time for philosophy."  
  
"It's the time for _revenge_!" Harry finished, and Severus raised an eyebrow.  
  
"That's called _muggle-baiting_ , and unlike Hermione's experiment, it _is_ illegal." The man drawled. Harry shrugged.  
  
"I know. I just thought it was worth a try."  
  
"Is it _more_ illegal than kidnapping a ward of the Ministry?" Hermione asked pointedly, and Snape glared.  
  
"That's for the courts to decide."


	14. Chapter 14

Malfoy Manor was pale and beautiful, carved out of Italian marble and bone-white sandstone, and it looked like an ancient castle more than the modern house that it was. Hermione looked at it with no small degree of awe, and she walked closer to Harry.  
  
"Am I even going to be allowed inside?" Hermione asked awkwardly, and grasped her friend's hand more tightly.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, Hermione." Harry smiled. "Draco is really looking forward to meeting you, and they aren't nearly as predjudiced as you think. As long as you remember your manners, the Malfoys will like you."  
  
Manners were something Hermione was good at. She learned them from books, and they helped her throughout difficult social situations. Children her own age found her curtsies and courtesies like a foreign language, but they always charmed adults. Manners told her what to do and how to react in situations she wasn't familiar with, so she was well versed in modern _and_ antiquated fashion.  
  
When Severus rang the doorbell, a shrivelled little creature answered the door, pulling at it's ears with a shy expression.  
  
"Hello Tippy." Severus smiled politely, and handed the creature his coat, which Tippy disappeared with a flash. Then, she turned her wide-eyed gaze to Harry, and gave a bow.  
  
"Master Harry," the elf proclaimed, and made Harry's coat disappear right off his shoulders with a snap.  
  
Then she turned her very large eyes to the girl at Harry's side, and nodded vigorously, making his ears flop.  
  
"And this must being Missy Hermione." Tippy announced, and held out a hand for the girl's heavy cardigan. She slipped it off and handed it to the elf with a little curtsey that made the creature blush.  
  
"Thank you." She said simply, and she couldn't see it, but Severus nodded approvingly.  
  
The three of them walked to the drawing room, where Mrs. Malfoy sat writing. An elf popped in before them to announce their arrival, and popped away just as quickly.  
  
Mrs. Malfoy rose from her seat, and greeted them each very warmly, even Hermione. She seemed pleasantly surprised when the girl curtsied, and shook her hand properly, and Hermione couldn't help a frown.  
  
"Pardon my frankness, Mrs. Malfoy," She began, and Severus broke out into a cold sweat. "I may have been raised by muggles, but I am _not_ a mannerless heathen."  
  
There was heavy silence for several seconds, and no one even dared to breathe, until Narcissa broke into delighted laughter.  
  
"No, my dear, I dare say you aren't." Narcissa smiled at her, and time started moving again, and everyone exhaled.  
  
"Might I also have permission to be frank?" The woman asked, and Hermione nodded. "You remind me very much of my elder sister at your age. Even down to the hair, and that petulant expression. I find it rather charming."  
  
Hermione smiled then, a very broad, sunny smile, for no one had ever called her charming before. A nuisance, yes. Clever, of course. Odd, more times than she could count, but never _charming_.  
  
"Ah, and that is where the similarities end," Narcissa laughed, and seemed to recall something far away. "My sister would have said something like; ' _I'm not charming, I'm dangerous_ ,' and we'd all laugh. Right up until she really _did_ become dangerous."  
  
"What was her name?" Hermione asked, not noticing (or perhaps ignoring) Severus' subtle gestures to change the subject.  
  
"Bellatrix." Narcissa answered, and Hermione's eyes grew wide.  
  
"The warrioress. That's appropriate."  
  
Now it was Narcissa's turn to be surprised, and she tilted her head slightly, her elaborate blonde updo remaining firmly in place.  
  
"You're familiar with astronomy and star names?"   
  
"Of course," Hermione replied. "It's one of the only wizarding subjects I can learn about through muggle books. I also have an extensive knowledge of mythology and etiquette, and as much of the wizarding world as I can get my hands on."  
  
"I believe it." Narcissa smiled, and placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. "If you find it too dull playing with the boys, feel free to call for Missy, and she can show you to the library."  
  
Hermione's face lit up like a sunrise, and Harry shook his head with a smile. He loved books quite a lot too, of course, but flying was much better.  
  
"Come on, Mi! Let's go play!" Harry proclaimed, and took Hermione by the elbow before they could have any more talk of libraries.  
  
As the children left, Narcissa looked almost like she might cry, and she turned to Snape with a tremulous smile.  
  
"Goodness, Severus, I thought she'd act like a Weasley, and I was all prepared to pretend to like her." She took a deep breath and gave a slightly hysterical little chuckle. "You didn't tell me she acted just like a little Black."  
  
"I didn't find out myself, until just today." Severus dryly explained. "When I walked into her home and discovered it was a warded fortress, and her parents under constant compulsion charms."  
  
"Wandlessly?" Narcissa asked, her eyes wide and disbelieving.  
  
"Thank goodness not, or I'd have been _really_ afraid. No, Harry taught her how to make a blood-bonded wand with the help of her familiar."  
  
"Are they aware that such a thing is quite illegal in Britain?"  
  
"No. But I can't exactly stop them now that they know." Severus muttered darkly.  
  
"No, I suppose you can't. Harry is already showing some talent with wandless magic, and if someone were to snap Hermione's wand, I imagine she'd just make another." Narcissa replied, and then she sort of stared off into the distance.  
  
"Hermione," the woman mused. "What a pretty name."  
  
"You've heard it before?"  
  
"It's from Shakespeare," Narcissa explained. "Wizards love Shakespeare. He was a high-functioning squib who worked elements of the magical world into his plays, like the Amortentia in Midsummer Night's Dream."  
  
"The Notts have a habit of using the Bard's names for female daughters, but Greco-Roman names are common enough among wizarding Britain that it's not too uncommon." The blond witch continued. "I grew up friends with a girl named Helena, and I had a distant cousin named Cassius."  
  
"As interesting as that is, I haven't even gotten to the best part," Severus drawled, and Narcissa's eyes got even wider.  
  
"There's more?" She exclaimed, and the dark haired potions master smiled.  
  
"She's a natural necromancer." He whispered, very low, very steady, and Mrs. Malfoy gasped.  
  
"A - A -" She stuttered, and couldn't bring herself to say it. "Like - like Bella?"  
  
"It's a talent in the Black family, yes?" Severus asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Well, yes. But Bellatrix could never get it quite right. She just made inferi, even when working with animals."  
  
"Well this girl is a damn _prodigy_." Severus whispered. "She has a mouse that she raised _months_ ago. She keeps it in a muggle hamster cage, and I wouldn't have even known if I hadn't performed a deep scan on it. It doesn't even feel like dark magic precisely, unless you know what to look for."  
  
"How many people are there in the country who can perform such a scan?" The woman asked. Severus shrugged.  
  
"The head of the Department of Mysteries, almost certainly. Dumbledore, probably. And myself, of course. Other than that, who knows? Xenophilius Lovegood might be able, but who would believe him?"  
  
"So you're telling me that this girl knows star names, acts like a little Black princess, and can raise the dead?"  
  
"It's intriguing, isn't it?" Severus smirked.  
  
"I refuse to let that child go back to those muggles." Narcissa proclaimed, her jaw quite set, and her chin high. "I don't care who they are. She deserves to be with her own people."  
  
"I was hoping you'd say that." Severus grinned. "The muggles are religious fanatics who are frankly terrified of magic, and terrified that their child can practice it. I read their minds while I investigated the house, and they seemed set to perform a private exorcism on her to cleanse the 'demons' of 'satanic witchcraft'. I feared for her life, which is why I brought her here immediately."  
  
Narcissa puffed up like a furious little cat, and called for Missy.  
  
"Mistress is calling for Missy?" The little elf asked as she popped in, noticably cowed by her lady's fury. Like most elves though, she recognized in a moment that her mistress' anger wasn't directed at her, so put a hand on her hip and huffed indignantly.  
  
"Who is Missy be having to kill for upsetting Mistress Cissa today?"  
  
Her elf's loyalty made Narcissa smile, and calm down a bit.  
  
"Don't worry yourself, dear. Leave the killing to me." The woman explained, and Missy nodded.  
  
"So you wants me to watch the babies whilst you is busy?"  
  
"Yes please, Missy. Just make sure they don't get into any of the cursed books, and eat their lunch."  
  
"I can be doing, Miss Cissa." Missy nodded confidently, and popped out with a loud "Good lucks with imbeciles!"  
  
Severus simply raised an eyebrow, and Narcissa grinned.  
  
"What? You don't know _everything_ about me."  
  


* * *

  
"So you're a real muggle." Draco muttered curiously, and examined Hermione closely.  
  
"I am not. I'm a witch." She insisted.  
  
"Your parents were muggles. How can two muggles have a child who is a witch?" Draco asked, in a way that was meant to be curious, but which came across as quite rude.  
  
"Actually," Harry tried to interject with his knowledge of wizarding genetics, but Hermione interrupted him.  
  
"It doesn't matter." The girl glared defiantly. "I'm a witch, and that's that. I bet I've done more magic in this past month than you've done in your entire life, you foolish little boy."  
  
"You couldn't have!" Draco sputtered, blushing. "Muggleborns aren't allowed to use magic outside of Hogwarts!"  
  
"Says who?" Hermione replied flippantly.  
  
"Says... The ministry!" Draco retorted, after a good deal of thought.  
  
"The ministry also says underage wizards aren't allowed to use a wand, and I know for a fact that you do." Then, to prove her point, Hermione pulled out her very thin mistletoe wand, and pronounced: " _Accio_ Draco's wand!"  
  
With a sharp whistling sound, the wand flew through the air, and landed right in Hermione's palm.  
  
"My wand is made from the wood that slew the god Baldr. Mistletoe, blessed by Loki. Would you like to try again, Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
Harry wasn't sure whether his friend was more awed about the show of power or Hermione's knowledge of Norse mythology, but he stood there with wide eyes like a deer in the headlights, and he shook his head.  
  
"Give back my wand," He demanded, in a rather weak voice, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.  
  
"May I _please_ have my wand back?" Draco amended, and the girl tossed back his wand, and threw her hair over her shoulder.  
  
" _Accio_ Hermione's wand!" Draco shouted, as soon as the magical tool was back in his hand, and only looked on with shock when it stayed put.  
  
"It's blood-bonded to me," Hermione explained with a smirk. "It's possible to summon a bonded wand, but it requires the caster to have more power than the intended victim. Willpower _and_ magical power."  
  
Draco blushed even harder. More than anything, this proved that Hermione was very possibly stronger than him. He nodded, shakily, and then smiled sheepishly.  
  
"I'm sorry for doubting you." He apologized, and it rang of sincerity. He glanced back to Harry and blushed again. Hermione simply put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"But I can see that I was mistaken." Draco continued, lapsing back into his normally haughty manner. "I hope we can be friends, despite my initial rudeness."  
  
Hermione swallowed. Trust was held to her heart, and not freely given. She'd been burned too many times by false friends, and the betrayal of her very own parents.  
  
"I'm not sure we shall ever be friends, but we can at least get along, for Harry's sake." She said, by means of a compromise.  
  
And then Draco grinned, and it felt like her whole world lit up with fire. She did not like it. Not one little bit.  
  
"Come on! Let's play King Arthur!" The blond exclaimed, and led the children out to the garden, where a whole little playground was set up for Draco's use. There was a beautiful play-castle, made of real stone, with a bird's nest in the top-most tower. There were little handholds to climb up the stone walls, and a rope ladder that could be pulled up in case of a siege. There was a twisting green slide that curled all the way around the castle, designed to look like a dragon, with a dragon's head at the bottom.   
  
This way, it looked like the dragon who guarded the castle breathed out children instead of fire, and before the real game began, much fun was had in running all over the play castle and sliding down the dragon slide.  
  
"I'm sorry for Draco's behavior." Harry said, once he and Hermione could catch a moment alone.  
  
"Well, I can't say I didn't expect him to be a little prat, but at least he had sense enough to apologise." Hermione huffed.  
  
"I think he was just a little jealous." Harry admitted. "We're godbrothers of a sort, and we've gotten very attached to each other these past few weeks."  
  
"I could tell." Hermoine said, a bit haughtily, and couldn't resist poking fun. "If you like Draco so much, why don't you _marry_ him?"  
  
"Ew!" Harry scoffed. "I'm ten, _madam_. As my first decree as King Arthur, I proclaim that all thoughts of marriage shall be postponed until I am _thirty_."  
  
"I take it this means she doesn't want to be Guinevere." Draco announced, popping his head up from a trap door beneath them, and making Hermione cry out with surprise.  
  
"If we're playing King Arthur, I insist on being Morgan LeFay." Hermione said, once she regained her composure, and Draco grinned.  
  
"Awesome!" Harry exclaimed. "You're much too brilliant to be a normal old princess. A sorceress suits you much better."  
  
"You're quite right, it does." Hermione preened, and Harry put on the paper crown that had been left in the play castle from the last time they'd played King Arthur. Hermione saw that an adult had placed some glamour charms on the paper craft, making it shine like gold foil, and giving it some durability.  
  
"If Harry is Arthur, and I'm Morgan, who are you?" The girl suddenly asked Draco. The boy smiled proudly.  
  
"I'm Merlin! Trusted advisor to Arthur, and the most powerful wizard who ever lived!"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

When Severus and Narcissa returned, carrying all of Hermione's luggage, most of it shrunk into tiny parcels, they found an unexpected visitor at the manor.  
  
"Mother?" Narcissa asked, wide eyed, and went over to the doorway of the drawing room, where a middle-aged witch was leaning against the door frame, smoking a long black cigarette in a silver holder.  
  
"Hello my dear," The older woman drawled, taking a long drag of her cigarette, and blowing out the smoke like a dragon. "I just popped in for a visit, but if you're busy, I can always come back later."  
  
"Er, actually," Severus began, but he was cut off by Mrs. Malfoy as she smiled and hugged her mother.  
  
"Of course not. We're taking care of a few things, but I think the house elves can take it from here." Narcissa said, and then she summoned an elf, and had him deliver the luggage to a guest room.  
  
"Expecting visitors?" The woman asked, and Narcissa shrugged.  
  
"I hope so. It's sort of a long story. Mother, have you met Severus?"  
  
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure." She said, acting as if she didn't recognize the most famous potions master in England, just because they'd never been formally introduced.  
  
"Mother, this is Severus Snape, of the house of Prince. He's just here to supervise a playdate between his ward, Harry and our Draco." The blond explained, gesturing gracefully towards the potioner. "Severus, this is Lady Druella Black, my mother."  
  
"Only a playdate!?" Druella exclaimed indignantly, completely overpowering Severus' quiet greetings. "I thought for _sure_ that you and Lucius were ready to invite another man into the bedroom..."  
  
"Mother!" Narcissa exclaimed, blushing hard, and Severus just sort of manuvered into a dark corner and hoped to die.  
  
"You know, I always thought that the infertility problems came from your husband's side of the family. Maybe having a consort could mean I get a new grandchild!" Druella continued, even though her daughter cringed almost painfully.  
  
"Mother! Severus is _gay_!"  
  
"You _know_ I don't like using those _muggle_ terms when wizards already have a perfectly good word for it. Just call it _philopais_ , like the ancient wizards did."  
  
(It was a borrowed Grecian word, something like 'a lover of boys', though the term had evolved with the culture to be more specifically 'a wizard who loves wizards' and like so many other relics of the Roman empire, the wizarding pureblood community held onto it's ancient roots with a death grip.)  
  
With a sigh, Narcissa rolled her eyes and swept out of the room in a huff, too embarrassed to even speak to her mother. This had the unfortunate effect of leaving Severus _alone_ with her. And he _trembled_.  
  
"Now then," Druella smiled with a little twist of her lips. "Now that my lovely daughter has departed, tell me what's _really_ going on here."  
  
"Nothing's going on." Severus replied, cool compared to his earlier flushed embarrassment, but too fast, too rehearsed. As an experienced Slytherin, Druella Rosier could smell a lie like smelling the difference between goblins and galleons. _Easy_.  
  
"Something is most certainly going on, and it's _not_ an extramarital affair."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, madam." Severus replied, getting back into his element. Lying was easy. He'd spent most of his life doing it. "That luggage was mine."  
  
"So that was _yours_ , eh? You own a kneazel _and_ a mouse, and keep your potions supplies in a child's trunk?"  
  
"How did you know it was a child's trunk?" Severus sputtered, and Narcissa's mother let out a loud cackle, just like the witches in muggle movies did.  
  
"It was decorated in sparkling star stickers."  
  
The potions master heaved out a sigh, and looked away, thoroughly bested.  
  
"So let's explore the evidence, shall we?" The old woman laughed, and Severus wished he had succeeded in dying a moment earlier. He resolved to later invent a potion that allowed wizards to dissolve into the floor. "A child is staying here. Not a child _I_ know, or you would have told me right away. That means you're deliberately hiding the fact, which you would only do for one reason."  
  
Severus felt his stomach lurch. Druella Black cackled again.  
  
"There's a muggleborn here!"  
  
Snape felt like he was choking on air, and barely managed to sputter an incoherent question as Druella settled down into a chair and went back to calmly smoking her cigarette, which had burned almost to a cinder while she was talking. A new one appeared when the older woman waved her wand.  
  
"Don't look at me like that, boy." The older witch raised an eyebrow and took a long drag from her new cigarette. "I'm not a blood purist, and I never was."  
  
"But Bellatrix," Severus began, and Druella scoffed.  
  
"I married her off as soon as she graduated to keep her from throwing herself at that _half-blood upstart_ Riddle, and we see how well _that_ turned out."  
  
"A-Andromeda -" The man stuttered, and Lady Rosier scoffed.  
  
"Andromeda was disowned from the _main_ Black family by _Walburga_. That dried up old crone, however, does _not_ hold domain over house Rosier, or the Black _branch_ family. Andromeda doesn't come to family gatherings because she isn't raising her daughter with the old traditions, and because she personally hates Narcissa's husband with a passion." The witch explained, before adding, conspiratorially, "They were in the same year group, you know."  
  
She puffed away for a few moments, and seemed lost in thought for a moment. Finally, she glanced back at Severus, who seemed to be hanging on her every word.  
  
"Tradition. That's all I care about." She finally said, quietly. Then, after more thought, she decided to elaborate more on the subject.   
  
"You know, in the old days, we used to _kidnap_ wizarding children born to muggles, and replace them with changelings, so they'd be raised in the magical world." She sighed. "But that was before my time. Still, blood adoption is a very acceptable option. If the child is powerful enough, I'd welcome any addition to the family. It's _tiresome_ to be so old and to have so little family left close to me."  
  
"Well," Severus said with a cough. "There won't be any need for changelings. The girl's parents hardly remember her. I went to obliviate their memories, only to find that their long-term memories of her are already fuzzy at _best_. Narcissa and I have a theory that the child has a natural muggle repelling field, and the only thing keeping them from forgetting her very _existence_ was a geas, a very powerful compulsion charm."  
  
"What was the geas?" Madam Druella asked, on the very edge of her seat. "Who put it on the muggles?"  
  
"I don't know." Snape muttered. "Narcissa believes that the girl was abandoned by purebloods, and the muggles were charmed to think she was their own child. I'm not so sure. The girl has already shown a great deal of talent for manipulative magic. When I went to fetch her for the playdate, I discovered that she'd had the entire household under what she _believed_ were compulsion charms, but which was actually a long-term conditional geas. It wasn't skillful or particularly _effective_ , but that's what it was. It's my personal theory that she cast the geas herself, subconsciously."  
  
"From a child Draco's age? That's almost unbelievable. No wonder Narcissa is interested." The older witch shook her head in awe, and then snapped back up to look at Severus with a feverish excitement.   
  
She didn't bother asking how the girl had done it, wandlessly or with a homemade wand, it didn't really matter at this point. Severus was beginning to feel a bit indignant on Harry's behalf. It had been Harry who taught her how to do most of this. Harry was a prodigy too, if only in different areas, and Snape never ceased to be proud of him.  
  
He wondered if that was how a father was meant to feel, and despite all his anger and conflicted feelings at the memory of James Potter, he felt just the slightest bit guilty about being the one to experience it. He was beginning to feel like he had a family, for the first time in a very long time, and some part of him felt that he didn't have the right to be a father to Harry. And another part of him, deep deep down in his bones said that Lily was _kin_ , a sister in magic, and any child of hers would be a part of his family, and nothing else would ever matter.  
  
That night, Severus and Harry and Hermione stayed for dinner with the Malfoys, and Druella treated Hermione just like she was already part of the family, which made her a bit uncomfortable.  
  
"Just call me Grandmother, or Gran, dear. It's much easier that way." She'd said right before dinner, when Draco introduced his new friend to his grandmother.  
  
"Alright, Grandmother." Hermione obliged, though it made her feel a but awkward. She wasn't used to being doted on by adults, and everything she'd read told her that purebloods were aloof and fearsome, and she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. A little muttering voice in the deepest part of her whispered that she would never be at home in the magical world, or in the muggle world. She would never belong anywhere.  
  
But then Harry took her left hand, and Draco took her right, and Grandmother Druella wrapped her in a very tight hug that smelled of herbs and smoke, and that little muttering voice died a silent, potent death.  
  
Dinner was delicious, and Harry could tell that Boggy, the elf in charge of cooking, was very proud of his work. He could tell, because Boggy kept popping around and grinning, and kept refilling glasses so that he could get to see everyone's happy faces. Finally, Druella leaned forward and loudly praised the dinner. It made the little elf pop away, very flushed and green, and happy squeals were heard faintly off in the house somewhere.  
  
"Oh mother... I wish you'd stop teasing them." Narcissa sighed.  
  
"An old woman _must_ get her entertainment somehow." The grandmother replied, and followed up with a hearty laugh. "And I get mine from making people uncomfortable."  
  
They continued together in a happy pratter, though the married Malfoys tended to be quieter and more composed, as was their nature. Severus had recovered enough from his earlier embarrassment to provide his usual deadpan commentary, and it made everyone laugh.  
  
Druella asked the children what they were working on in their studies. Draco explained that he was reading the classics, starting with the Illiad. He had a magical copy that explained the difficult vocabulary and some of the more complex cultural elements of ancient Greece. That kick-started a heated conversation between the blond boy and the curly haired girl about the Trojan war, and whether or not Achilles was a wizard. Harry just pushed his food around on the plate and tried not to feel left out.  
  
Draco had been primarily homeschooled, but he'd had tutors come by on occasion for the subjects his mother didn't teach. The wizarding world had a huge market in books that were teaching aides for pre-Hogwarts students to learn basic subjects, which were more or less the same as the muggle equivalents.   
  
There was a lack of science and math beyond the basics, but literature and history were more advanced and in-depth than their muggle equivalents for the age-group. Hermione, who studied far ahead of her grade-level, was relieved to know she wasn't leagues behind Draco in all that he knew. They were actually on an equal footing, and Harry, who'd never gotten much of a muggle education, was the one feeling left behind now. He knew about subspace physics and potion brewing and all kinds of transfiguration, but he'd never heard of the Illiad or Hamlet before. He'd thought that a hamlet was a kind of town or village, but was afraid to voice that opinion out loud, because it didn't seem like the right answer.  
  
He didn't realize everyone was looking at him until the conversation had died down, and it was suddenly very quiet. He glanced up, showing the old signs of wide-eyed fear, like a deer in the headlights. But then uncle Severus smiled reassuringly.  
  
"While you were day dreaming, Mrs. Black asked what you were studying, Harry." Severus explained, and the look in his eyes said that he knew Harry wasn't day dreaming, but that was less embarrassing than saying he was moping, and that was why he'd said it.  
  
"Oh," Harry perked up right away and smiled. "I'm working on my occlumency, and practicing all the spells from our first year book list. I'm also doing some research into the nature of magical pocket dimensions."  
  
Harry smiled even more brightly then, and added: "I have a lot of experience with it, and Uncle Sev says that if I can prove my theories, he'll help me compose a paper to submit to a wizarding research journal."  
  
Draco's grandmother seemed pleased by that, and gave him an approving nod. "And what do you do for _fun_?" She asked next, with a curious little smile that seemed to be higher on one side, like a quirk of the lips.  
  
"Mostly I fly." Harry explained with a happy smile. "I always dreamed about flying, when I was a little kid, and once I learned how to do it, it was the easiest thing in the world. It's my favorite thing to do."  
  
"You do more than just _flying_ though," Hermione interjected, and she made flying sound like a chore. Her voice was only teasing though, she would never make fun of his interests for real, just like he wouldn't make fun of hers. But it was just like Hermione's sense of humor to take the most magical thing in the world and make it sound _boring_.  
  
"Well," Harry finally conceded. "I also read fiction books, not just school books. I'm almost done with _Treasure Island!_ It's very fun. A little scary, but mostly fun!"  
  
They spent the rest of the dinner talking happily, and Harry felt like he really had a family. He loved his uncle Sev, and Severus loved him, but their meals were quiet, mostly. Severus had always had a hard time talking to people one-on-one, and Harry was too inexperienced to hold up the entire conversation on his own. That was usually alright for Harry, because he was naturally an introvert. It was just that, sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to have a great big family that was loud and messy and talkative.  
  
Like all good things, the dinner ended, and that was when Narcissa took Hermione aside, and knelt so that they were eye to eye.  
  
"Hermione, dear, Severus told me about how your parents were treating you." The older witch spoke calmly, and it made Hermoine relax a little. She'd thought she was going to be in trouble.  
  
"I just wanted to ask you something, and you don't need to feel obligated to answer it right now," Narcissa continued, smiling at the girl in a way that made her heart ache. "Would you consider staying here, at the manor? As part of our family?"  
  
Hermione burst out into tears. Not the pretty kind, like you see in movies, but a very ugly, splotchy kind of tears. The kind that came with mucus and drips and smeared sleeves.  
  
"Oh no, no dear, don't cry please!" Narcissa exclaimed, and she felt tears welling up too. "I didn't mean to upset you-"  
  
"I don't deserve it!" Hermione cried. "I don't deserve any of this, a family, _magic_ \- I was so jealous of Draco and, and-"  
  
"Oh, Hermione..." Narcissa murmured, and wrapped the girl in a very warm embrace. "You deserve nothing but the best in life. Nothing but beauty and happiness and the magic you're a part of."  
  
"I'm just a - a _muggleborn_. I'm not a real witch at all," Hermione sobbed, and Narcissa stroked her hair.  
  
"I have my doubts about that," She began, and then added: "But even if you _were_ the child of muggles, I would still love you, dear. You remind me so much of my big sister, and well..."   
  
She smiled very sadly, and hugged Hermione closer so that she wouldn't see it.  
  
"I always wanted a daughter, a girl who could be heir to my family magic, who was more of a Black than a Malfoy. I always pictured her with pretty curly hair like yours, like my sister had."  
  
Hermoine just kept crying, and Narcissa cooed soothingly to her.  
  
"You have your own room, just a few doors down from Draco's. Severus and I retrieved all your belongings today while you were playing."  
  
The girl gasped.  
  
"All of it? Even my..." She swallowed. "Even my _muggle_ books?"  
  
"All of it." The witch nodded. "I understand if you don't want to stay here, but I _refuse_ to let you go back to those muggles."  
  
"Of _course_ I want to stay here," Hermione sniffled, fighting back happy, startled tears. "There's nothing I've ever wanted more, not in my entire life!"  
  
"Then there is only one thing left to say," A voice chimed in, and Hermoine looked up to see Draco's father leaning against the doorway. He smiled at her in a subdued sort of way, and said:  
  
"Welcome home, Hermione."


	16. Chapter 16

It was the first playdate Hermione had ever had that wasn't just with Draco or Harry. This was the day she'd meet the class she'd go to school with, and it was _terrifying_. All the old fear rushed back at once. She didn't belong here, or anywhere. These kids would take one look at her and know she was an imposter, a cuckoo bird in someone else's nest.  
  
Harry wasn't here to make her smile and feel safe today. He was spending time with his godfather today, and she didn't begrudge him that. They had so much to catch up on.   
  
She still remembered how nice it felt to just be with the Harry and Draco, no pressure. The last time they'd all been together, Hermione lay on the plush carpet next to Harry, listening to his walkman. She and Draco had come over to Harry's house then, because he wanted to show off his room, of which he was very proud.  
  
Hermoine had never gotten to listen to much muggle music, because her parents were strict, and thought anything other than classical music would distract her. She did occasionally get to listen to musical soundtracks, but never by herself.  
  
"Who is this?" She'd asked Harry, and he grinned as glam rock blared from the connected speaker.  
  
"David Bowie. He was my mum's favorite. All these tapes were hers," Harry explained, and Hermione frowned, wrinkling her nose the way she did when she was thinking.  
  
"That voice sounds familiar but..."  
  
Harry nodded, and went to the closet, digging around for something. Meanwhile, Draco's eyes widened.  
  
"Are you sure this is muggle music, Harry? It's certainly _raucous_ enough, but I think this fellow is talking about the Kaballistic tree of life-"  
  
No one listened to him though, because Harry had pulled a rolled up poster from his closet, and Hermione had screeched.  
  
"Oh! That's the Goblin King!" She exclaimed. "No wonder I recognized the voice!"  
  
Draco leaned over her shoulder and frowned.  
  
"That is _not_ a goblin." The blond sniffed indignantly. "That's just a man with poor choice in hair."  
  
"He _played_ a goblin. In a muggle movie." Hermoine explained, and Draco just looked more confused.  
  
"What's a... _Moo-vee_?" He'd asked cautiously, as if it was some kind of dangerous creature to be warded off, similar to the way he viewed muggle cars.  
  
Hermione shared a _look_ with Harry.  
  
"It's like..." The girl paused, and thought for a moment. "It's like a play, but saved, the way you would save a wizard photograph. So you can go back to it and watch it again."  
  
"With sound?" Draco asked, intrigued, and Harry nodded.  
  
"And color, too." The dark haired boy added with a grin.  
  
"Show me." Malfoy commanded, and Hermione had rolled her eyes fondly.  
  
 _It was nothing at all like this_ , Hermione thought with a certain tightness about her mouth. It was _peaceful_ , and they'd shown Draco what movies were, and she doubted anyone _here_ had heard of David Bowie or Labyrinth.  
  
"You'll be fine." Draco whispered to her, under his breath, like he could feel her emotions rolling in her aura.  
  
"Easy for you to say, you git." Hermione scoffed. "You've been doing this your whole life."  
  
"So have you," Draco retorted. "It's just acting. You've spent your whole life pretending to be a harmless muggle. Now, just pretend you're a pureblood."  
  
"Besides," The blond continued, "In recent years, there's sort of a tradition at Hogwarts that if a muggleborn gets sorted to Slytherin and wants to learn the old ways, they can be sponsored, sort of like a ward, by a pureblood family."  
  
"We're not at Hogwarts, Draco." Hermione huffed. "And I'm not a Slytherin."  
  
" _Yet_ ," The boy smirked, and Hermione smacked him.  
  
"Seriously. My point is, you're under the protection of House Malfoy. If anyone has anything to say about that, they can take it up with me."  
  
Narcissa cleared her throat from the doorway. Hermoine jumped, surprised, and spun to face her.  
  
"Introduce yourself as a Black, Hermione." The woman advised softly, and the younger witch blushed.  
  
"I - I can't - that would be worse, to lie about-"   
  
"It won't be a lie." Mrs. Malfoy spoke, very quiet, very gentle. "Before September, you _will_ be a Black. If you want it, that is."  
  
"You mean-?"  
  
"I will adopt you _myself."_  
  
Hermione nodded firmly, and smiled, too overcome with emotion to even form a proper response.  
  
"Millie's a half-blood you know," Draco continued. "Her mum was a muggleborn, but she became good friends with Millicent's dad at Hogwarts, and was eventually adopted into House Bulstrode."  
  
"And she... Got invited to this meet-up?" Hermoine ventured.  
  
"Yep." Draco nodded, and hugged his friend. "She's one of us, just like you'll be."  
  
So, taking a deep breath together, Hermoine and Draco stepped out into the garden. All the children stared at first, but then a dark haired girl with an upturned nose smirked at them and raised an eyebrow.  
  
" _Draco's got a girlfriend!_ " She chanted teasingly, and Draco blushed, but hid it with a cough.  
  
"Excuse me Pansy? This is Hermione Black, my _cousin_." He retorted cooly, and Hermione curtsied to hide her wicked smile.  
  
"So?" Pansy cackled. "It wouldn't be the _first_ time a Black dated their cousin."  
  
"Hey, no one ever teases _me_ for having a girlfriend!" A boy chimed in with his opinion, and Hermione turned to see a boy with dark skin and shining amber eyes.  
  
"Have you ever _had_ one, Blaise?" Pansy asked with a sigh.  
  
"Nope." The boy replied with a grin.  
  
"Do they _always_ do this bickering routine?" Hermione whispered under her breath.   
  
"Yeah. It's sort of their thing." Draco smiled. "It's usually funnier."  
  
"Hello Hermione," A pretty girl announced, and approached to shake hands. "I'm Daphne Greengrass."  
  
"A pleasure to meet you," Hermione replied, and Daphne took her by the arm.  
  
"Come on, I'll introduce you to the gang." She announced, and her long blonde hair swung behind her as she pulled Hermoine along. The girl looked back to Draco with a bit of a panic, and he smiled reassuringly.  
  
 _I'll be right here,_ he said with his eyes, as everyone was talking and running around them and the whole world shrunk down to a pin-point. There was just Hermione and Draco, and the warmth of visual contact.  
  
Then Daphne was dragging her along to meet all her peers, and Draco was lost in the noise.  
  
"You've already met Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini," Daphne said, and Hermione noted their last names, glad the other wasn't leading her back over to the bickering pair. They seemed like nice kids, but they were a bit overwhelming.  
  
"I like your name." Hermoine complimented. It was polite, but she was also sincere. "I love mythology."  
  
"Thanks." Daphne replied with a genuine smile. "Most people just comment on my face or hair. _You_ picked something about me that I'm actually proud of."  
  
She gave a sly little smile, a secret grin, and leaned close to share a secret.  
  
"I know my name isn't something I had control over, but it could be worse. My mother's name is _Agnes_."  
  
Hermione giggled. It felt nice to giggle with another girl though, and to know that she was being laughed _with_ , and not _at_.  
  
"This is Millie Bulstrode." Daphne said as they approached a girl with a cat. She was exceptionally tall and wide, and awkward looking, and she held her cat like a shield. Hermione didn't see her awkwardness though, she saw the familiar face of a cat person.  
  
"Oh, you have a kneazel?" Hermione gushed, reaching out a hand for the cat to sniff.  
  
"Her name's Kate." Millie explained shyly.  
  
"I have a kneazel too!" Hermione exclaimed. "He's a grumpy yellow thing with a notched ear."  
  
The other girl smiled at that. The black kneazel mewed and allowed Hermione to scratch her head. Daphne continued the tour, but Hermione resolved to go back to Millicent later.  
  
"This is Tracey Davis of House Montague. She's actually my neighbor, so we're good friends." Daphne explained, introducing a girl with auburn hair and glasses, and a pretty splatter of freckles across her nose.  
  
"It's a pleasure." Hermione replied, smiling politely. When someone was introduced with ' _House_ ' something-or-other, it meant that their mother came from an ancient or otherwise distinguished house, denoting that even though their name wasn't Sacred Twenty-Eight, they weren't just your normal half-blood. She'd heard Harry's guardian introduced that way.  
  
Next, Daphne led her to two boys, who looked like they were good friends. One was short and squat, with a dark close-clipped haircut, and the other was lanky, though not particularly tall, and had a dusty brown fringe that fell in a shag over his forehead.  
  
"This is Gregory 'Greg' Goyle, and Vincent 'Vince' Crabbe." Daphne introduced them, the squat and thin, respectively.  
  
Hermoine had heard of them from Draco, because their families had some kind of feudal alliance of a sort, which mostly meant that Draco looked out for _them_ academically, and they looked out for _him_ physically. Usually, in the form of brute muscle.   
  
Despite being something of an 'arranged' friendship, they were good and loyal pals, by Draco's admission, and the girl was happy to have faces to put with the names.  
  
Finally, they made their way over to a boy with a book. He was sitting on a bench beneath a tree, and the breeze ruffled his ash-brown hair with soundless grace. Something about him made Hermione's magic itch in a way that wasn't comfortable. He struck her as rabbity, like he was all sinews and running muscle, and any sharp noise would send him running.  
  
"This is Theodore Nott." Daphne announced.  
  
 _Theodore, God's gift,_ Hermione thought, with her endless knowledge of trivia.  
  
"You have a Christian name," she blurted out unthinkingly, and wanted to take it back immediately. She didn't know why she had just done such a thing without thinking - she _never_ acted without thinking! The boy scowled at her.  
  
"Actually, it's _Greek_. And I'm Jewish. There _are_ Jewish wizards, you know."  
  
Hermoine flushed, and she noticed when he talked that his front teeth were rather large, like hers. She couldn't help staring. Her parents had refused to do anything surgically for it, but wouldn't wizards have a cure for large teeth? Theo noticed her staring, and put a hand over his mouth.  
  
"Hey! Quit staring at me, you awful girl!" The boy cried out, slightly muffled, and Hermione blushed so hard she could feel her cheeks burn.  
  
"I was only staring because I have large teeth too -" Hermoine began, but Theo glared even harder.  
  
"You're rude, and, and _horrid!_ I couldn't care less who you are." The boy exclaimed, and Hermione felt the emotions rush through her like a wave.  
  
Fear. Sadness. Frustration. _Anger_.  
  
Before she could stop herself, she stomped hard on the boy's foot, and ran away into the garden while he was howling in pain.  
  
"What did you _say_ to her!?" Draco exclaimed with righteous fury, and Hermione didn't stop to feel flattered by it - she was flooded with emotion, and sobbing as she ran off into the Malfoys' hedge maze.  
  
The anger was beginning to wear off now, leaving only raw fear in its wake. She'd exposed herself as a mannerless idiot in front of all those people, and now Mrs. Malfoy would hate her and send her back to the muggle world to live in stifling secrecy and hate again. She had one chance to act the part of the perfect pureblood, and she'd blown it. As expected, she didn't belong here at all, no more than she'd belonged in the muggle world.  
  
Finally, tired out from running and lost in the green hedges, Hermoine crouched down on the stone path and sobbed. She let out all her pain and the frustration that dragged her back to muggle primary school and the bullies who called her names.  
  
"There you are!"  
  
A voice called out from the other end of the narrow path, and Hermione looked up with tear-streaked cheeks to see Daphne and Draco rushing toward her.  
  
"I'm so glad you're safe," The other girl sighed in relief as they came to a stop and Hermione stood, rubbing her eyes.  
  
"You... You came to find me?" The curly haired girl managed to stutter a reply. Then she hiccupped and cursed herself for everything she'd ever done. Every perceived flaw seemed magnified in her mind.  
  
"Of course. You're my friend, Hermoine." Draco said, and he looked over her with concern.  
  
"I've only just met you," Daphne admitted sheepishly. "But I'm a big sister, and I hate seeing people cry. If Astoria was crying, I'd want someone to go after her."  
  
Hermoine broke out into tears again, and cried into Draco's shoulder as he hugged her.  
  
"I didn't mean to say those things to Theo - I just did, and I can't take it back -"  
  
"It was like something made your mind all fuzzy, and your magic itched?" Daphne asked in a tone that wasn't really a question, and Hermione nodded, a little surprised.  
  
"That's perfectly natural, Mione," Draco murmured into her hair. "Your magic and Theo's are incompatible, and a lot of people make a bad first impression when their magic gets frazzled like that."  
  
"It's - it's normal...?" Hermione sniffed softly.  
  
"Everyone has some degree of magical compatibility." Daphne explained. "Often, it isn't strong enough to influence you one way or the other. But sometimes you meet someone who repulses you like fire, or draws you in, like a magnet."  
  
Hermione tightened her grip on Draco's shoulders. When she met Harry, it was like a lock clicked into place, and the world made sense for the first time in her entire life. When she met Draco, she liked him, despite herself. She was expecting to despise him, and instead she felt drawn to him, like yin and yang. She'd expected a spoiled brat, and instead she found a curious mind that loved knowledge as much as she did. She found that most of his haughtiness was affected, and a way to get the attention of his busy father.  
  
When she met Theo, it was like the exact opposite. He hadn't done anything overtly strange, but she felt prejudiced against him regardless.  
  
"It happens often, with siblings who aren't raised together," Daphne added, with a meaningful look that made Hermoine feel cold, deep in her bones. "It's like magic's way of telling you who you shouldn't marry."  
  
 _What if you're not a Black_? A tiny voice, deep down inside Hermione tried to protest. _Even worse_ , the voice _continued, what if you are?_ It didn't make sense, but something about the way she felt for Draco made her hope they would be siblings by adoption only. It gave her a headache to focus too hard on it, like the true meaning of that feeling was just out of her reach.  
  
"That's not always the case though," Draco hurriedly interjected. "Sometimes close family members have a strong magical _draw_ instead of a _repulsion_. That's what happened with my great aunt and uncle. They were cousins, but they had a strong enough compatibility that their parents allowed the marriage. It was, _coincidentally_ , what Pansy was teasing about earlier."  
  
"How on earth am I supposed to apologise?" Hermione groaned, feeling nearly crushed by humiliation. "I was doing so well."  
  
"You've been pretty sheltered, haven't you? To not know about aura compatibility, I mean." Daphne commented in a tone that wasn't mean or prying. Hermoine stiffened.  
  
"Is it that obvious?" The girl sighed and sniffed again.  
  
"It's okay, Hermione." Draco murmured. "Daphne will understand. She's not a blood purist. Or even very traditional, like Pansy."  
  
"I was raised by muggles." Hermoine whispered, choosing her words very carefully.  
  
"You poor thing," Daphne immediately soothed, kneeling down next to her, so that they could be eye-to-eye. "I don't believe muggles are inferior or stupid or anything, but they can't have been equipped to handle a magical child."  
  
Hermione shook her head, and finally felt more brave and emotionally stable. She didn't feel as if she would burst into tears at any moment, and allowed the other two to lead her back to the party. Once they arrived, Daphne took Theo aside, and explained to him what had happened. He was very understanding, and they agreed to try the introduction again, shaking hands to seal their new mutual understanding.  
  
"Amazing footwork, Hermione." Pansy had said approvingly, though her tone held no real meanness. "I've wanted to do that to Theo for _years_ now."  
  
For the first time in a long time, Hermione truly felt like she belonged.


	17. Chapter 17

Life with the Malfoys... Was something like a dream come true. It was like a storybook dream that never ended, and every morning, Hermoine woke with the sense that somehow, she never woke at all.  
  
Every morning, she was awakened by the calls of mockingbirds outside her window, with the warm rays of sunlight beaming in through curtains white as snow. Every morning, Missy woke her up with breakfast in bed, and brushed out her wild hair while she ate pancakes or eggs, and sipped orange juice out of a crystal glass.  
  
"You work miracles with my hair, Missy." Hermione would say, between bites of breakfast. It wasn't always those _exact_ words, but they always made small talk during breakfast.  
  
"It's bein' house elf magics, Miss Miney." Missy nodded sagely, brushing Hermione's hair with patience and gentleness. "We nanny elves knows what babies need."  
  
"I'm not a baby." Hermione said, pouting in a very babyish manner. "I'm older than Draco _and_ Harry!"  
  
"You's _all_ be babies to Missy," the elf scoffed. "Missy was nanny elf when Master Lucy was just in nappies."  
  
Hermione smiled at Missy's soft hands and her odd way of speaking, and took dainty bites of her food. In the Malfoy household, the girl always felt like she had to be on her best behavior, though it wasn't very different than how she acted at home.  
  
"You haves good manners, Miss Miney." The elf complimented as she pleated the sides of Hermione's unruly curls into elaborate braids that would keep her bangs back from her eyes. "I wish young Master Draco would be so quiet when he chews."  
  
"Back in the muggle world, other children made fun of the way I did things." Hermione murmured softly, looking far off into the distance at something that wasn't really there. "They thought I was stuck-up, like I thought I was better than them."  
  
"Well..." Missy began, drawing out the 'el' sound as she ran practiced fingers through the pretty hair. "Miss Miney is a _good_ girl. It's not bad to take pride in being a good Miss."  
  
"Pride is one of the deadly sins, according to my muggle parents." Hermione chuckled, a little bitterly.  
  
"That's silliness." Missy laughed, and tucked the two braids into each other behind Hermione's ears, like a diadem of hair, a princess crown for a little princess. "Missy don't know what a 'sins' is being, but nanny elves knows what's good for babies. It's good to take pride in being a good Miss."  
  
It was shocking, sometimes, to see the lack of Christian iconography and cultural elements that were so common in muggle England. Wizards didn't use god in their speech. When they needed a mild expletive, they used the name of Merlin. Wizards didn't celebrate Christmas, they celebrated Saturnalia or Yule. Wizards didn't usually go to church, although Draco had told her that there was a mass held on Sundays in Ottery St. Catchpole, usually attended by muggleborns, half-bloods, and a few pureblood converts, like the Weasleys.  
  
There were a handful of Jewish families (the Goldsteins and the Notts) and a handful of Hindu families (the Patils and others) but for the most part, British Wizards followed a set of traditions loosely called "The Old Ways." It was a hodgepodge of Celtic ritual and Roman culture, Nordic gods and Germanic runes, a syncretism born of long historical coexistance in the Western world during the days before Christianity.  
  
After breakfast, Missy helped Hermione dress in beautiful robes of deep indigo.  
  
"This is a good color, Miss." The elf nodded approvingly. "The dark blue is said to keeps away evil eyes."  
  
"So it's lucky then?" Hermione asked with a smile.  
  
"Yep. A good color." Missy repeated emphatically.  
  
After she'd gotten dressed, Hermione always went down to the parlor, where she and Draco had their lessons in the morning. The things he said each morning were different, but he was _always_ happy to see her.  
  
She could tell by the way his eyes lit up when she entered a room. (It was _good_ to have someone who was happy to see her.)  
  
Studying with the Malfoys was almost just like studying at home, except that Hermione no longer had to waste time with muggle subjects she would never need as a witch. She got to experiment and stretch her limits, and the adults around her were always full of praise for her discoveries. It was such a far cry from the way she'd been treated at home, and with all the magic that saturated every stone of Malfoy Manor, was it any surprise that the girl felt she was living in a fairy story?  
  
The Malfoys had an active subscription to many wizarding periodicals from all over Britain and Europe. Hermione particularly liked The Quibbler. It was something of the wizard equivalent of a tabloid; with gossip, and conspiracy theories, and the alien sightings replaced with bizarre accounts of mythical creatures that even other wizards found dubious.  
  
"You don't really believe that stuff, do you?" Draco asked carefully, afraid to offend, but secretly worried that muggle-raised Hermione was naïve in the ways of the wizarding world.  
  
"I just find it amusing." Hermione replied. "Also, I like the personality quizzes."  
  
She became quill-friends with the chief editor's daughter, who was a year younger than her, and so very very lonely. Luna was interested in Magizoology and wizard theology, and it was exactly what Hermione needed at that point in her life.  
  
(Some part of her, some deep and hidden part, still worried that she was going to hell. A lifetime of fear and indoctrination doesn't simply go away in a heartbeat.)  
  
Despite her vastly improved living conditions, Hermione still had a lot of worries. She was afraid she wouldn't get into Slytherin when the time came for her to go to Hogwarts. If that was the case, her second choice was Ravenclaw, but she didn't _know_ anyone who would be in Ravenclaw. Luna thought she might be, but Luna was also a year younger than Hermione, and wouldn't be in Hogwarts at the same time.  
  
(And the little whispering voice in her mind wondered if Narcissa Malfoy would still want a girl who couldn't get into Slytherin.)  
  
She had been told about the Weasleys, and how every single one was in Gryffindor, even the ones who really didn't seem to fit (like the cunning twins who exacted perfect vengeance, or the ambitious prefect who wanted a ministry job.) She knew about the Blacks, who were all in Slytherin, as far back as she could tell. And the one Black who ended up in Gryffindor.  
  
Then in Azkaban.  
  
But when Hermione asked, bringing it up in a halting voice and cautious whispers, Narcissa laughed with a genuine smile.  
  
"Well, that's silly. Not _all_ Blacks ended up in Slytherin. Dorea Potter was a Black, and she was in Ravenclaw. My niece was in Hufflepuff."  
  
"But Auror Tonks is... Well, a _Tonks_ , and Dorea went down in history as a Potter. What if I bring some kind of eternal shame down on the Black family name?"  
  
"Hermione," Narcissa spoke calmly, and wrapped the girl in a warm hug. "I will love you no matter where you get sorted."  
  
The woman had never before told Hermione she loved her. Narcissa showed it, in every warm smile and gentle correction, and bright encouragement, but never before had she explicitly told Hermione she was loved.  
  
"Would you still love me if I'm not a real Black?" The girl whispered.  
  
"You will always be a 'real' Black. If not by birth, then by adoption." Narcissa reaffirmed. "I always wanted a daughter, Hermione. I've grown to love you in the weeks you've spent at our home. You're a genius, and a brilliantly powerful witch. With your levels of ability, you _cannot_ be a muggleborn descended from squibs. You are either a pureblood, a half-blood, or a new-blood, and no matter _where_ you came from, you will be welcomed in this family."  
  
"What's a new-blood?" Hermione blurted, distracted by the term she didn't know.  
  
"You're aware of Myrrdin ratings, correct?" Narcissa explained, and Hermione nodded.  
  
"It's the magical scale of how wizards measure up to Merlin, right?"  
  
"Right. It's also a general indicator of magical power. Merlin set the scale with a rating of fifteen. Anywhere from one to three, is a high-functioning squib. Someone who might be able to see dementors or have a familiar, but who wouldn't be capable of using a wand." Narcissa explained.  
  
"Like the custodian at Hogwarts, right? Tracey told me that Argus Filch is a squib, but he has a familiar connection with his kneazle."  
  
(Tracey Davis knew that, because her cousin Graham had told her so. He was older than them, and sent Tracey letters every Friday.)  
  
"Precisely." The witch nodded in approval. "A wizard with a rating of three to seven is considered average, and most magical users fall into this category, muggleborn and pureblood alike. A wizard with eight to eleven is considered above average, and often, it's because the bloodline has a creature ancestor somewhere."  
  
 _Like Blaise_ , Hermione thought to herself. She knew he had some kind of creature blood in his line, because of the pureblood rumor-mill, but it was rude to ask straight out.  
  
"Finally, a wizard with a rating of eleven to fifteen, is considered unusual, though some 'above-average' wizards can get to that level of power at a later age. Albus Dumbledore is one such wizard." Draco's mother explained, before she passed and considered her next words carefully.   
  
"Any muggleborn witch or wizard with a rating of ten or higher, is encouraged to check their magic against Gringotts bloodline records. If no match can be found, that person is considered to be a whole new family line. A new-blood. Such as Lily Evans."  
  
"Harry's mother was a... A _new-blood_?" Hermione gasped, eyes wide as she considered what this new information could mean. "Did you know her rating?"  
  
"Severus said that when they left Hogwarts, Ms. Evans checked her family magic, and came up without any matches. When they discovered her Myrrdin rating was a fourteen out of fifteen, she begged Snape to keep it a secret. It was simply too dangerous at the time, and she was already a high-profile graduate."  
  
Narcissa laughed, a little bitterly.  
  
"He only told _me_ about it years after she'd died, when he was deep in his cups and it didn't matter anymore."  
  
Hermione had never heard of such a thing. A muggleborn with a rating of fourteen, just one away from Merlin himself.  
  
"Occasionally," Narcissa continued, "There are wizards who 'break' the scale, those who eventually reach higher than fifteen over the course of their life. The astonishing thing, is that Lily Evans had only had her first magical growth spurt at age 11. She was due to have another around 21, and if she had lived, she might have been one of those rare witches who break the scales."  
  
 _This_ was territory Hermione was familiar with.  
  
"An archmage." She whispered.  
  
"Yes. An Archmage." Narcissa nodded, affirming what Hermione had already somehow known, deep within her bones.  
  
At that moment, Hermione knew what she needed to do.  
  
"How does one go about finding their rating?" Hermione asked. "Is it like a magical heritage test? Do I need to go to Gringotts?"  
  
"Fortunately, it's very simple." Narcissa explained. "We can do the ritual at home, right now, if you want."  
  
Hermione knew that she could never feel truly comfortable as a witch until she knew for certain. Draco and his mother could tell her she was powerful, but Hermione was the kind of person who believed nothing without empirical proof. She nodded quickly, and Narcissa smiled at her eagerness.  
  
The older witch drew a smooth, round stone from her work desk, and used a magical engraving quill to mark a single rune on it. Ansuz, the rune of Odin, and wisdom, the Norse god who Wizards associated with Merlin. It was a rune that looked like the letter F, but with the arms pointing downwards like a tent stake. Next, she drew a circle around the stem of Ansuz, and added a horizontal line through the middle, so that the circle became a cross of Odin.  
  
"Here you go." Narcissa handed the stone to Hermione, and pulled a chart from her drawer. It looked like a muggle target, with a stone-sized circle in the center, and fifteen rings around it. She helped Hermione to prick her finger, and place a drop of blood onto the center circle. Then, she healed the tiny cut with her magic.  
  
"Now, push your magic into the stone, the way you would push it into a wand, and try to cast a lumos charm." The woman instructed, and while Hermione felt a little silly, she did as she was told, and half expected the stone to light up, even when it stayed upsettingly grey and opaque. She tried not to show her disappointment, but Narcissa laughed.  
  
"That was my sister's response too. But that's not the actual test, so don't fret about not lighting the rune, Hermoine."  
  
Next Mrs. Malfoy instructed Hermione to place the stone on the chart, right over the spot of her blood. And something incredible happened.  
  
There was a bright light, brighter than a muggle camera flash, and brighter than anything Hermione had ever seen. Both witches were temporarily blinded by it, and as soon as the blazing white fire died down, they blinked spots from their eyes. Hermione immediately looked to the chart, which glowed like the muggle stars she'd stuck on her ceiling, back when she'd lived in Surrey.  
  
"My word." Narcissa murmured, blinking away tears with the bright spots, and staring at the chart like it was a miracle.   
  
(It nearly was.)  
  
The entire sheet was glowing like muggle glow-in-the-dark stickers, but it was as bright as her brightest lumos.  
  
"What does it mean?" Hermione asked, almost frantic. "Am I a good-enough witch?"  
  
"To put it in perspective, darling," Narcissa began, with a drawl. "Albus Dumbledore can only light up as far as the fourteenth circle."  
  
" _The_ Albus Dumbledore!?" Hermione squeaked. "The defeater of Grindelwald? The headmaster of Hogwarts?"  
  
"The old fart who has his own chocolate frog card?" A voice came from the doorway, and Hermione spun around to see Draco in the doorway of the study. Narcissa frowned at him.  
  
"What have I told you about eavesdropping?" She asked sharply, and Draco frowned, but seemed undaunted.  
  
"If I'm going to do it, I should at least avoid getting caught." The blond sighed in defeat.  
  
"Since you're here, you might as well take a look at Hermione's Myrrdin rating." Mrs. Malfoy shrugged, and beckoned her son over.  
  
"That's impressive." Draco whistled. "Mine was only a nine."  
  
"I know. I think I might have it framed." His mother crooned.  
  
"I hope I'm understanding this right." Hermione swallowed, and racked up her courage to speak. "Did I just break the Myrrdin Rating Scale?"  
  
"Let's put it this way," Draco laughed. "These things are considered to be private, unless you end up famous. But you'll never have to doubt you're a real witch."  
  



	18. Chapter 18

Later that very week, Narcissa Malfoy sent in the relevant papers to the ministry. She and Lucius had signed their names at the bottom in crisp black ink, and sealed the scroll with the Malfoy crest.  
  
They were Hermione's adoption papers.  
  
Far away, in the Scottish highlands, a book opened up with a thump, and the pages turned with incredible speed, seemingly by themselves. The name 'Hermione Granger' was crossed out with the ink of an enchanted quill, just one of a long line of names, prepared by magic for the upcoming school year. Beside it, the name Hermione Black appeared with a scratch and a flourish.  
  
"Traditionally, we would do a blood-adoption, but I'd rather do a magical heritage test first." Narcissa explained, back in her personal study, located in the west wing of Malfoy Manor.  
  
"Why?" Hermione asked, even as she beamed with pride. She was a Black now, a Black and a Malfoy, and her magical power was off the charts. No one would ever be able to tell her she wasn't a real witch.  
  
"It has to do with magical compatibility. Blood adoption is sort of similar to a ritual marriage, in that it involves a merging of family magics. If you have magical birth parents out there, it will be important to make sure your biological magic will merge well with your adoptive magic. That's just how these things work."  
  
"So why don't we get a heritage test?" Hermione asked, eager to finally know the truth.  
  
"It's not advisable until you're a bit older." Lucius explained. "It's a magically draining process, even for a girl who's had her first magical maturation already."  
  
Hermione had felt herself steadily growing stronger, ever since her eleventh birthday. Due to the birthday cut-off dates for Hogwarts, she'd be starting school with Harry and Draco, despite being almost a year older than them.  
  
"This way, you're our child, legally, and in the eyes of the ministry. Being our daughter in the eyes of magic will come later." Narcissa smiled gently as she explained, and Hermione felt like she'd finally come home, to where she belonged.  
  
"Before Gringotts, how did wizards do a heritage test before a blood adoption?"  
  
"Very poorly," Narcissa chuckled. "Mostly, wizards would go around to all the pureblood families, and see which aura matched best with their prospective child."  
  
"There are spells for it," Lucius added, "But they require families to share magic and blood samples, and wizards are wary of anything that could spill secrets."  
  
"What if my magic won't merge well with the Black family magic?" Hermione asked, just a tinge of worry creeping into her voice.  
  
"I highly doubt that." Lucius murmured. "Over time, as you continue to live and practice magic here, your magic will adapt to be more similar to ours. Magical children grow in magical strength through many means. The most common one is by absorbing the ambient magic of their family home."  
  
"I have no doubts that your magic will be compatible, Hermione." Narcissa continued. "I mostly want to do the test, because after a blood-adoption, the adoptive family magic tends to obscure the magic of your wizarding parents, if you have any. Once you become a full Black, it'll be harder to qualify you for any inheritances your family might have left for you."  
  
"What does a blood adoption entail? Will it change my genetics? Will I be related to you and Draco biologically?" Hermione asked, full of questions and wonder and the hope that was so strong it almost crushed her.  
  
Narcissa easily slid into the role of tutor, the way she had been teaching Draco ever since his birth.  
  
"Blood adoption has existed since the burning times, when whole families were wiped out by muggles, and the surviving children had to be intergrated into other houses. Essentially, each magical house has it's own signature, certain elements that appear in every generation, just like how families have physical traits that are passed down to children."  
  
"Like our Malfoy hair." Lucius chimed in, smiling with a sort of merry ease that made Hermoine relax a little.  
  
"Or like the Black Family's grey eyes." Narcissa continued. "These are the traits that distinguish us. A blood adoption ritual uses the adoptive magical signature, and overwrites the birth signature. That way, certain locked family grimoires and artifacts will recognize the new child as a member of the family."  
  
Suddenly, Hermione's mind went back to something Lucius had said earlier.  
  
"Wait, what did you say just now?" The girl spun to face Draco's father with wide eyes. "Something about magical households?"  
  
"Magical children grow stronger by absorbing the magic that leaks from their parents' auras." Malfoy grimaced, for a reason Hermione didn't understand, but he explained anyhow.   
  
"Often, they also absorb magic from any enchanted artifacts stored in the home, and from the ancestral magical residue of a family manor. That's why muggleborns and muggle-raised children tend to be weaker. They don't have family magic to draw on during their childhood. It's just as important for a growing child as mothers' milk."  
  
"That can't be right." Hermione interjected, frowning in thought. "Harry and I are incredibly powerful, and we both grew up in muggle households."  
  
"Firstly, you aren't _quite_ grown yet." Narcissa told the eleven year old with a smirk. "Secondly, Harry is sort of a... Unique case."  
  
She glanced at her husband, who looked to her with tight-lipped silence. Narcissa Malfoy wasn't sure about the odd little artifact that wasn't exactly a grimoire, Lily Potter's last gift to her son. But she suspected it had contributed in some way to his massive power.  
  
"Thirdly," Mrs. Malfoy eventually continued, when she saw that her husband was keeping his peace on the matter. "Thirdly, while ambient magic is the most common way for a young witch or wizard to grow stronger, it's not the _only_ way."  
  
"There are many paths to power, Hermione," Lucius Malfoy chuckled. "And you've already discovered some of them, like linking your power to a familiar, or performing ancient rituals."  
  
That... Made a startling amount of sense. Hermione thought about it, and how she and Harry had fought all their childhood to rise above the mediocre. Like muscles, could magic be increased through training?  
  
"I once knew an incredibly powerful wizard, who had been raised in a muggle orphanage." Mr. Malfoy explained. "According to my father, the wizard became powerful before he arrived at Hogwarts by practicing wandless magic and blood rituals."  
  
"There's a certain genetic component, of course, but nothing that couldn't be rememdied by hard work." Narcissa added.  
  
"So basically," Hermione began, turning the thought over and over in her mind until a plan began to form. "Basically, despite being raised in the muggle world, I could theoretically become even stronger than I already am?"  
  
Lucius Malfoy's eyebrows rose almost comically. Narcissa hid a smirk behind her hand, and Hermione bristled without realizing.  
  
"What's so funny about that? Is it wrong to be ambitious?" Hermione huffed, and the Malfoys softened a bit, until the girl felt a little less threatened by their mirth.  
  
"I wasn't laughing at you, Hermione." Narcissa chuckled. "With ambition and curiosity like that, you're sure to be in Slytherin. It amused me, because you've been so worried lately for no real reason."  
  
"I'm just scared." Hermione muttered. "All my life, I've felt like a fraud, and I thought it would get better if I found my people. If I was among wizarding society."  
  
"You don't feel comfortable here?" Narcissa asked with a hint of something bitter in her voice.  
  
"No, I _love_ it here," Hermione quickly explained. "And after we did the test, no one can deny I'm a witch. But despite my best intentions, sometimes I forget. Sometimes I feel like a fraud, and sometimes, I wake up in the night, scared that I'm back in my old muggle home, and everything was just a dream."  
  
"Is that why you're so intent on learning and proving yourself?" Narcissa asked in the most delicate way she knew how. "Because you _know_ you don't have anything to prove. You're brilliant, Hermione, and everyone who speaks to you for five minutes notices it."  
  
The older witch wrapped the little girl in a tight hug, and Hermione felt her heart grow lighter with every breath, as if the weight was being lifted off her shoulders.  
  
She was a witch. She was powerful. She would never allow anyone to abuse her, ever again.  
  
"What if I was really a muggleborn?" Hermione asked suddenly, impulsively. "Would you still love me? Would you want me?"  
  
"Yes." Lucius spoke first, and surprised her. "Pureblood motives over the course of the war have been greatly maligned by the history books."  
  
"Of course, history is always written by the winners." Narcissa added wryly.  
  
"Pureblood wizards value power and secrecy over all else." Lucius explained. "We favor other purebloods because their family history makes them more powerful, and they don't have muggle relatives hanging around to break the statute of secrecy."  
  
"But any witch or wizard who shows power and disdains the muggle world is welcome among us."   
  
As she picked up where her husband left off, Narcissa looked to Hermione with stars in her eyes. It made the girl feel warm inside, warm as a star going supernova.  
  
"Harry's uncle Severus is a good example." Lucius continued. "He was a half-blood raised in the muggle world, but when he was sorted into Slytherin, the whole house took him under their collective wing, and taught him our ways."  
  
"Though he didn't quite need the help." Narcissa laughed. "For most of his Hogwarts years, he had us fooled. He used his mother's name, and called himself Prince."  
  
"You mean, he pretended to be a pureblood?" Hermione asked, a little bit awed by his audacity, and recalling the garden party where she'd introduced herself as a Black. Lucius chuckled, and continued the story where his wife left off.  
  
"Yes. But when it all came out, many of the Slytherins stood with him, as well as friends from other houses. He ended up wearing it as a badge of pride, calling himself the Half-blood Prince for the second half of his Hogwarts years."  
  
"Janice Bulstrode is another good example." Narcissa said. "She was a muggleborn sorted to Slytherin, and she was fast friends with my cousin, Cassius. Eventually, she was adopted into House Bulstrode, and her daughter is in your year, Hermione."  
  
 _Millicent, the girl with the cat_ , Hermoine thought, as she vaguely recalled Draco telling her something about Millie's blood status.  
  
"So you see dear, we wouldn't care overmuch if you really were muggleborn." Narcissa smiled, and Hermione felt happy enough to smile back.  
  
After that, everything was easier.  
  
Narcissa took Hermione to a tailor, and got her fitted out for every occasion. Up until now, she'd been wearing hand-me-downs from Narcissa and her sisters. They'd long outgrown their childhood dresses and robes, and Missy used elf magic to adjust the size. But they were outdated in style, and Narcissa had a mind to donate the old robes to charity, so it was time for Hermione to have a whole wardrobe of her own.  
  
They swept through the fireplace, and with floo-powder, entered right into Twilfit and Tattings. It was the Malfoys' usual tailor, though Madam Malkins' was good enough for school robes in a pinch. The witch who ran the shop, a tall, thin woman, introduced herself as Giselle.  
  
"No surname?" Hermione asked quietly, and Narcissa chuckled.  
  
"She doesn't need one. She's quite famous for being the best at what she does."  
  
Giselle led Hermione to a stepping stool where she took the girl's measurements by hand.  
  
"It's slightly more accurate than doing it by magic." Narcissa explained quietly.  
  
"You are quite pretty, my dear." The witch complimented as she measured. "You're very young still, but I can tell that you'll be beautiful one day."  
  
No one had ever told her that before.  
  
"My - my teeth are too big, and my hair is frizzy, and - and,"  
  
"You are a Black, no?" Giselle asked without really asking, and Hermione nodded.  
  
"Then your minor imperfections will become less and less as you grow in your magic. It is so with every powerful witch."  
 _  
I'm not a real Black,_ the little voice taunted in Hermione's mind, suddenly alive and full of malice. But Narcissa smiled knowingly, and nothing seemed impossible anymore.  
  
"What colors do you like?" Giselle asked, putting away her measuring tape, and looking at the girl with a practiced eye.  
  
"Dark colors," Hermione said, after a moment of thought. "Dark indigo and green. Maybe some Earth tones."  
  
"Good, good." Giselle nodded. "Those would go well with your coloring. You shouldn't wear black just yet, not at your age. You would never pull it off. Bright red is right out, except for accents."  
  
"What about gold or silver trimming?" Narcissa interjected, as if struck with a sudden inspiration.  
  
"Yes," Giselle murmured, thinking it over. "Yes, indigo and gold, dove grey with silver accents, yes."  
  
They had a whole wardrobe set out in the most luxurious materials, from crushed velvet to acromantula silk that flowed through the fingers.   
  
A wizarding ensemble usually consisted of an underdress, sometimes with a petticoat, an overdress (never shorter than the knee), and outer robes. Witches never wore pinafores, because knee-length outer robes usually took the role of protecting precious dress fabrics, and they were charged with dirt and dust repellent. If it was raining, the outer robe was hooded, and had water repelling charms.   
  
A poor witch might have one robe that adjusted size and quality as needed, but wealthier witches had a plentitude of outer robes for all occasions. Hermione now owned dozens, and they would arrive at the manor by house elf magic, just as soon as they were completed. Dozens of robes for all weather and all seasons, and all made of fabrics that cost more than her muggle parents' _car_.  
  
The ugly duckling was becoming a swan.


	19. Chapter 19

Luna Lovegood was sure of a very few things in life.

First, that her father loved her very much. He was distant, and sometimes not all there, but he loved her, and of this she was certain.

Second, Luna knew, sometimes she saw things that other people couldn't see, the weaving of magic (from her mother's side of the family) and scenes of the future (from her father's). She never spoke of these things to the people involved in them, because Luna's mother had taught her from a very young age that speaking of a prophecy set it into motion. Sometimes, the knowing alone was what set fate into a predestined spiral. That was why the prophecies at the Department of Mysteries were only allowed to be viewed by those the prophecies concerned. No one else was allowed to set such a machination of destiny into motion.

Thirdly, (and this one was the most important of all), Luna knew that she was hard to be friends with. For a long time, she'd played with Ginny Weasley, because they were the same age, and neighbours, but that wasn't exactly groundwork for a lasting friendship. 

Then, last year, Ginny had discovered boys, and spent all her time reading magazines about wizarding celebrities. Luna couldn't care less about boys, and wasn't sure she ever would. But now she and Ginny had even less in common than before, and they stopped making excuses to play together.

But just when things were at their worst, when Ginny hadn't spoken to her in months, and the only company she had were her stuffed animals and books, Hermione Granger came into her life.

She'd answered Luna's personal ad in the Quibbler. Luna didn't think anyone her age actually read her father's paper, so she was shocked to find that a little girl (admittedly a slightly older little girl) was eager to correspond with her. Luna was almost glowing with happiness, and Hermione was interested in all the same things she was. She loved animals, and had a pet kneazle and a mouse. She loved stars and stories, and asked ever so many questions about what wizards believed.

And just like Luna, for a very long time, books had been Hermione's only friends.

But now, Hermione had all kinds of friends, and Luna had Hermione. One day, the older girl's friends would be Luna's friends too. She could just feel it, like the way she felt the moon cycle through her phases, or the way she felt the threads of fate and magic shift in time.

Today, Hermione was visiting. It was the first time they'd met in person, and Luna was equal parts excited and nervous. She thought it was probably normal to be a little anxious at a friend's first visit. She hoped Hermoine wouldn't think her room was silly, or that the too-big house she shared with her father was lonely.

(Even if it really was.)

When the fireplace flared up at noon, Luna ran to meet her friend, who stepped out of the floo with a little puff of soot. None of it stuck to her, and she stepped out of the fireplace with grace. 

"Hermione!" Luna exclaimed, and the older girl smiled brightly. Luna blurted out her next words with a blush. 

"You're much prettier than I expected."

"I could say the same for you," Hermione laughed. "You look quite a lot like my cousin Draco."

Hermione, as an only child, had never had a little sister to coddle, and she seemed to latch onto Luna immediately, even before they met in person. She instantly wanted to protect and dote upon Luna, and their meeting only served to solidify that feeling.

"Look, I brought you something," Hermione said, and pulled a little package from her bag.

"You shouldn't have!" Luna gasped, but her smile betrayed her.

"Nonsense." Hermione scoffed. "I like to do things for my friends. I have more money than I know what to do with, so I might as well buy gifts for people who deserve it."

Luna tore open the paper, and inside she found a book. T.S. Elliot's Book of Practical Cats.

"That's a muggle book I thought you'd enjoy." Hermione began, and nodded for Luna to keep unwrapping.

Beneath the book was a strange muggle device, with buttons and dials and a headset.

"That's what muggles call a walkman. It won't work in Hogwarts, but it should work fine at home." Hermione explained. "There isn't as much ambient magic interference, you see. I have two cassette tapes here to go with it."

"I love both gifts, Hermione." Luna beamed. "Even though I have no idea what a cassette tape is."

Hermione showed her two rectangular little cases, and demonstrated how to insert the tapes and play them. Hermione had charmed the muggle batteries to run off of ambient magic, like most enchantments did. That way, Luna wouldn't need to ever buy more.

"The tapes are sort of like song-versions of the poems in the book. They're very fun to sing along with."

Hermione watched as Luna put on the headphones, and started the tape, following along with the first poem in the book. Her eyes grew wide, and she smiled, joyful and delighted. The older girl smiled a little bitterly. Her muggle parents had liked musicals, and listening to the soundtracks had been one of Hermione's few good memories of her life with them.

"Thank you!" Luna finally exclaimed, tearing herself away from the book and walkman to wrap her arms around Hermione tightly.

Luna was relatively well off. Her father ran a publishing company, and her mother had been a spell crafter, who got patent money even after her death. She never wanted for anything. But getting a gift from a friend, a gift that was practically made for her? It made her so happy, Luna thought she would burst.

"Come on," Hermione laughed. "Let's leave the study, so we can have some fun."

Luna showed the way to her bedroom. It was up a winding set of stairs, like a princess tower from a fairy tale, and the visitor said as much.

"I thought I was the only one who would see it that way." Luna admitted quietly.

The little room had a bay window with a soft little cushion that was the same color as light smoke on a cloudy day. The bedroom was dominated by a canopy bed of the same color, surrounded by gauzy curtains. The comforter was soft, and embroidered with silver stars (and one big, round moon). The shelves and nightstand around the bed were surrounded by stuffed animals; unicorns and acromantulas, hippogriffs and dragons, and one particularly chubby stuffed niffler, who was standing guard over a jewelry box.

Painted all around the room were constellations, and Hermione could pick them out, even without the labels. There was Orion, and over there was Ursa, and just above Luna's bed was Cygnus.

"Papa made them for me, when I was little." Luna explained. "He wanted me to learn the stars, because he thought it would be useful some day."

"They're beautiful." Hermione said truthfully, and a little sadly. "Muggles have little stars that glow when they're exposed to light. I used to have some, and I mapped out the constellations just like you have them here. That way, when the lights were out, the labels were hidden, and all you could see were stars."

Aside from the constellations, the walls were lined with bookshelves. The books were interspersed with knick-knacks and curios - a polished moonstone, a little Japanese beckoning cat, an Egyptian scarab carved from lapis lazuli.

"The little things on my shelves are all souvenirs from my father's expeditions." Luna explained. "He always brings me something back when he goes."

"Does your father leave you alone when he leaves?" Hermione asked, with a bit of concern.

"No, of course not." Luna giggled. "I usually stay with my grandfather. My mother's father."

"When I was a little girl," Luna continued, "I told Papa that he couldn't leave unless he promised to bring me something back. Now I have souvenirs from all his trips!"

Luna pulled a big wizarding gramophone out of her closet, and put on an old record.

"You showed me that muggle music for the walkman, so why don't I show you some wizarding music on the gramophone. We can listen to the wizarding wireless later too!" The blonde explained, and Hermione grinned.

"Good idea. I can't wait to see everything the wizarding world has to offer."

She never felt the need to pretend in front of Luna. From the first letter, she'd never pointed out that for a Black, Hermione had a shocking knowledge of the muggle world. She never knew why Luna didn't ask, or seem to care, but Hermoine wasn't going to think too hard about it.

She saw something of herself in Luna, a little girl who hid behind pretend because she was lonely. 

Instead of worrying, she asked about each of Luna's stuffed animals, and brushed out her hair, softly and gently, just like Missy had showed her. There was something innately heartwarming about having someone you loved to brush your hair. Hermione had always been left to do it herself until she moved into Malfoy Manor, and she still remembered a time when brushing her hair was a chore instead of a pleasure.

For Luna, who didn't have an elf or a mother, Hermione wanted to be like a sister figure. She wanted to do everything a sister would do for Luna, washing her face and braiding her hair, making her lunch and snacks. It was singularly charming to have a little person to care for, and Hermione wondered if boys ever felt the same in that respect, if Harry or Draco ever felt the instinct to protect and nurture.

"This is Octavian." Luna said, hugging the stuffed acromantula from the nightstand. He had six button eyes, and eight stitched brown legs. "I sewed him myself, like most of my stuffies."

"Do they sell wizarding plush toys?" Hermione asked with a crooked smile.

"Yes, of course. But I find it ever so much nicer to make my own. They have their own personality that way." Luna explained, and put Octavian back, to grab a black pegasus-like toy with bat wings and white felt bones like that of an x-ray. Despite being sort of eerie, it still had cute points, like a little bow around its neck, and button eyes.

"This is Tess the Thestral." Luna announced. "She's my favorite."

"Why is she your favorite?" Hermione asked, amused.

"Papa helped me make her, after Mum died. He taught me how to sew, and taught me that death isn't something to be feared."

Hermione thought that the thestral was an eerie way to teach that lesson, but she was beginning to understand that while Luna and her father did things differently, it didn't necessarily make them wrong.

"And this one is Midas!" Luna exclaimed, now waving around the stuffed niffler, and pulling Hermione from her thoughts.

"Because he likes gold?" Hermione laughed, and Luna looked pleasantly surprised.

"That's why he watches my jewelry box." The younger girl nodded.

She showed Hermione all around the Rook, and pointed out the potions garden out front next to the dirigible plums. It had been her mother's, and even though they didn't have much of a use for it now, Luna's Papa kept it weeded and watered. They climbed up in the crab apple tree, and Hermione felt at home among the mistletoe that hung to the branches in clumps.

"Your mistletoe is so abundant up here." Hermione commented. "When I was looking for wand material, it took me ages to find a piece that was big enough."

"That's a very unique wand wood." Luna murmured, but as usual, she didn't comment on the dubious morality of making one's own wand without a license. (Hermoine knew it was because her friend kept a rowan wand behind her left ear, even though she wasn't even eleven yet).

"It isn't too unusual, is it? Plenty of wandmakers use vine wood. The druids who invented wandcraft believed anything with a woody stem was a tree, after all."

"Mistletoe is for someone with determination. Unlike some wands, it isn't opposed to curses and hexes." Luna explained. She seemed to know about wand lore, which interested Hermione greatly.

"But it isn't the perfect wand wood for you." Luna continued, and she spoke in a dreamy, detached sort of voice. "I see you with a yew wand, a wand of fame, or infamy."

Just as soon as it began, the spell was broken, and Luna smiled.

"Maybe dragon heartstring. Yes, I believe that's about right. Yew, and the heartstring of a Welsh Green."

"Why that wood? Why that type of dragon?" Hermione asked, and Luna shrugged.

"I don't know why. I just know."

"Draco loves Welsh Greens. He has them all over his room, from figurines to toys and wallpaper." Hermione mused.

"Some people believe a Welsh Green was the kind of dragon who was slain by Saint George." Luna replied with a vague sort of smile. "Wizards see it as the symbol of the Old Ways being quashed by Christianity. So for some people, the Welsh Green is a symbol of magic in wizarding Britain."

"Magic in Britain..." Hermione murmured, and it made her magic give a little flutter.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry had woken up that morning with a sinking feeling in his stomach, and an old, familiar ache in his scar. He was afraid to roll out of bed, and he wished Hermione and Draco could go with him to court. While he trusted his godfather, and felt at ease around him, Harry's friends had a way of calming him down, even with their very presence, that couldn't be matched by any other force on Earth.  
  
Cappy brought him breakfast, and helped him dress in formal robes for the occasion. He and Severus shared dinner every night, but they rarely ate breakfast together, and Harry was okay with that. His godfather was a busy wizard, and usually used the morning hours to catch up with his correspondence and writing. His work was published in multiple potions journals, and he wrote his own articles, often receiving high praise for both his brewing and his writing.  
  
Harry had read some of it before, and despite not understanding the minutia of the subject matter, the writing itself was compelling, and gave Harry motivation to improve his own brewing skills. Bottling glory and putting a stopper in death sounded like an awful lot of fun.  
  
After he had finished eating, and dressed for the day, Harry set off for his godfather's study. He knocked quietly at the door, and could hear the amusement in Uncle Sev's voice as he bid Harry to enter.  
  
"Good morning, Harry." Severus smiled at the short boy in front of him. His snall stature had been growing, little by little, due to the nutritional potions he took with breakfast and supper.  
  
"I asked Cappy to help me get dressed, so that I would be able to get used to my formal robes before I face the Wizengamot." Harry explained, rather solemnly.  
  
"You say it as if you're facing down a firing squad." Severus quipped.  
  
Harry simply raised an eyebrow, the way he'd seen his godfather do many times before.  
  
"You're right." Snape conceded seriously. "It's _exactly_ that bad. I don't hold out much hope that we'll make it back alive."  
  
Severus had a flair for the dramatic that never failed to make Harry smile. He had a morbid sense of humor for his young age, and his godfather understood that, and indulged it.  
  
As Severus sipped tea and read his morning newspaper, the fireplace flared to life, and an old woman appeared in the flames. She looked around with a hint of pleased approval, and asked permission to pass through the floo connection.  
  
"Permission granted, Dowager Longbottom." Severus replied without looking up, and with a flash of green fire, an elderly witch with a very odd hat stepped through into the study.  
  
"Ah, Severus. I like what you've done with the place. This is much better than the _hovel_ at Spinner's End. Elegant and simple!" The woman roared, with a personality so overpowering that Harry almost didn't even notice the boy who had slipped through the floo after her.  
  
"Surely you didn't come over just to congratulate me on my interior decorating." Severus noted drolly, and the old woman scoffed.  
  
"Of course not! I'm here to discuss our strategy for the hearing today!"  
  
"Our strategy? I wasn't aware there _was_ a strategy. Or, an _us_ , for that matter." Severus replied, and finally set his paper down to face the intruder directly.  
  
"Oh _please_ , Severus. While only yourself and your legal counsel can present your case, it's up to the Wizengamot to vote on the matter." The old woman proclaimed, and adjusted her hat, which seemed to have an _actual_ stuffed vulture as the centerpiece. Harry was glad Hermoine wasn't here to see it, because she had a very strong stance on animal cruelty, and a wearing a dead bird as a hat was both cruel and unusal.  
  
"I already know for a fact that the Patils will be voting in your favor." The woman continued her tirade, and Harry took this opportunity to approach the boy who'd just arrived, and who currently looked out timidly from behind the witch's skirts.  
  
"Er, hello." Harry announced quietly, under the volume of the adult conversation. "I'm Harry, heir of House Potter."  
  
"A - a pleasure to m-meet you," The boy stuttered out, and shook hands. "I'm Neville, heir of House Longbottom."  
  
The two boys looked awkwardly at each other for a moment, and then Harry smiled. "So you're my godbrother, huh?"  
  
"Er, I guess," Neville conceded. "I didn't know that was a thing."  
  
"If it wasn't before, it is now." Harry announced promptly, and pulled Neville away from the bickering adults as they continued their conversation.  
  
"Who are the Patils?" Harry asked, once they were out of the room. He didn't recognize the name from the Sacred Twenty-Eight.  
  
"They're a pureblood family who emigrated from India." Neville explained. "They traditionally side with the Potters in disputes, because a lot of your family come from India too."  
  
"They do?" Harry asked with something of a shocked expression, and Neville smiled gently in reply.  
  
"The generations have made your family a bit paler, I think, but your grandmother was from India." Longbottom explained. "She was a cousin of some sort to the Patils, so the Potters and the Patils are linked by blood kinship."  
  
"The Potter-Patils, huh? Try saying _that_ five times fast." Harry frowned and thought for a moment. He'd noticed that wizards didn't tend to view race the same way muggles did. His book had mentioned that wizards saw a person as magical or non-magical, and as long as you were magical, there was no matter the color of your skin. Not that Harry's skin was _particularly_ dark, but he wondered, not for the first time, what his father had looked like. Had his skin been darker? What about his grandmother?  
  
"It occurs to me that I know a lot about my mother," Harry began slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. "My godfather has a lot of photo albums with my mum, and your mum, and their friends at Hogwarts. But I don't really know much about my dad."  
  
"I'm sorry about that." Neville answered with a genuine sympathy. "I can't help you, but I can relate. Everyone who knew my parents intimately is dead, and my gran doesn't really like to talk about it. I kind of get the sense that she never really approved of my mum, and doesn't like to think about her."  
  
"I'm sorry too," Harry replied, and the boys had a morbid chuckle. They were in the same situation, grieving and not sure what to do about it. They were both thrust into a heritage they knew little about.  
  
Harry got a sudden idea. He'd learned about the relationship between Lily and Severus and the Longbottoms from his book, the magical book he'd been given by his mother. Perhaps some clue to Neville's past and his parents could be discovered from the same place.  
  
"It just came to me that my - " Harry paused for a second, recalling Severus' words about telling people the secret of his book. "That my godfather knew your parents. Maybe I could get him to open up to me about it. I can make copies of all the photos too. I've got a bunch with the four of them all together at Hogwarts."  
  
"Thanks Harry." Neville smiled. "That's one of the nicest things anyone's ever done for me."  
  
"It's nothing," Harry scoffed, feeling something tighten in his throat. All these years, he'd felt so alone, but he'd had his book to tell him about all the memories of his parents. Sometimes it even showed him flashbacks, like the past, but viewed through someone else's eyes. How much worse had it been for Neville, who'd had nothing?  
  
His parents were alive, but not... There. And in a way, that almost seemed worse. The two boys looked at each other for a moment and Harry felt tears behind his eyes.  
  
"I'm glad you're here today." Harry finally said, offering Neville a watery smile. "I only just met you, but it's good to know we're not alone."  
  
"Well, there's also your solicitor." Neville joked. "It's going to be loads of fun to hear Gran and Mr. Malfoy snipe at each other all day."  
  
Harry grimaced.  
  
"They're both traditionalists. You'd _think_ they would have something in common."  
  
"I think it's just the fact that Mrs. Rosier-Black is Gran's bridge club rival. Anything she says to that woman's son-in-law is like an indirect attack." Neville commented wryly. "Sometimes blood feuds involve murder attempts. Sometimes they involve old ladies playing bridge."  
  
"Too much fighting," Harry frowned. "What's like the wizarding _opposite_ of a blood feud?"  
  
"A house alliance, I guess." The boy replied. "Wizarding marriage is a type of alliance, and they vary by contract. The houses of Potter and Longbottom have an oath to defend each other in feuds and battles, and the houses of Potter and Patil have sort of a similar arrangement, but for voting and debate, and things that aren't quite as scary as blood feuds."  
  
"It's all rather intense, isn't it?" Harry laughed. He couldn't help himself. "We're just ten years old and we're expected to inherit all of our parents' alliances and arguments and relationships with other families. How am I supposed to keep it all straight?"  
  
Neville blushed then, right up to his ears, and he looked kind of like a pumpkin.  
  
"Er, I have a chart at home." He said, in a voice that was so quiet it was almost inaudible.  
  
"Of course you do." Harry sighed. "I shouldn't tease you about it, because it's the best idea I've heard so far."  
  
"I'm ahead of _you_ , at least." The boy chuckled. "You don't even _know_ about the 1912 treaty between the Weasleys and the Prewitts."  
  
"I know," Harry sighed, in mock shame. "I'm an uncultured heathen."  
  
Cappy popped into the room with a deep bow, clearly trying to impress Neville. He only brought out his deepest bows when there was company.  
  
"Sorry to be intruding, young masters Potter and Longbottom, but Cappy has been told to fetch you."  
  
It was the only warning they got before the elf took each boy by an arm, apparating them to the study. Severus and Augusta Longbottom stood before the fireplace.  
  
"Now that we're all assembled, shall we depart?" Severus asked, and took Harry by the hand. They'd traveled by floo before, but Harry was glad to have his godfather to make sure he didn't get lost. One day, he'd be confident enough to do it on his own, but what if he sneezed, and ended up somewhere entirely different than he'd intended?  
  
(It had nothing to do with the fact that Harry never stumbled when Severus held his hand.)  
  
When they spun out of the fireplace in the ministry of magic, Severus used a charm to clean the soot from his ward, and then himself. Mr. Malfoy waited for them in a clean marble lobby, leaning against a statue in the very center. He scowled briefly when he saw Madam Longbottom, but quickly schooled his expression into blank neutrality.  
  
"Does anyone ever wonder how floo powder was invented?" Harry asked with a grimace, in an attempt to change the subject. "It's not very practical to throw ones' self into a fire every time you want to go somewhere."  
  
Mr. Malfoy smiled wryly, with a hint of pride in his eyes.  
  
"Excellent question, Harry." Draco's father replied. "It was supposedly invented during medieval times to help wizards escape the pyre."  
  
"That's just foolishness," Augusta scoffed. "Everyone knows that wizards on trial could just use the flame freezing charm or apparate away."  
  
"I wasn't aware most wizards could cast many charms while bound and wandless." Malfoy replied coldly, quite at opposite tones with the subject matter.  
  
"Perhaps wizards were _different_ back then, with less reliance on wands, and fewer tools to tie them down." Mrs. Longbottom retorted.  
  
"Certainly, they were less _gullible_."  
  
The verbal battle continued, and Harry turned to Neville.  
  
"It still doesn't make sense that we willingly jump into _fire_ to get from place to place." Potter muttered.  
  
"That's what it says in our History of Magic textbook, at least." Neville shrugged.  
  
"Don't believe everything you hear _or_ read," Severus smirked, enjoying the debate on the way to the courtroom. "I think it's best to come to your own conclusions."  
  
"Honestly, I kind of agree with Mr. Malfoy," Neville whispered to his friend. "Gran has this weird paranoia about wands, and I think she's biased. Just because _she_ can do some wandless magic she thinks everyone can."  
  
Something about Neville's words seemed _sad_ , somehow, but before Harry could put a finger on it, they had arrived at the Wizengamot chamber, and stepped into the box they'd reserved for the hearing. Some of the members of the governing body were already there, including the Chief Warlock.  
  
Harry wasn't sure what he expected when he first saw the face of Albus Dumbledore. A voice in the back of his mind whispered _I thought he'd be taller_.   
  
He looked like nothing more than a very old man with a very long beard, and a robe that looked like he'd gotten dressed in the dark. He didn't _look_ like the author of Harry's nightmares. He looked like a kindly old grandfather with a bad taste in fashion, and Harry wondered why everyone was so afraid of him. Mr. Malfoy scowled, and Severus was so tense he looked like a statue, barely breathing.  
  
As more members of the Wizengamot trickled into the chamber, Dumbledore looked up and met Harry's eyes. He smiled kindly, and Harry knew it wasn't polite to stare, but he couldn't look away. He didn't know what to think about the man, and it unsettled him to be smiled at when all he wanted to do was scowl.  
  
A sudden pinch jolted Harry out of the staring contest, and he looked up at his godfather with surprise. It was the _only_ time Severus had _ever_ hurt him, and Harry felt something inside himself breaking. Then his godfather smiled, and crouched to meet his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry, Harry." Severus whispered. "It was the only way to snap you out of it."  
  
A deep sense of relief rushed in, and everything was once again well with the universe. Harry threw his arms around his godfather's neck, and nearly cried.  
  
"What on Earth happened?" The boy asked, burying his face in Uncle Sev's dark cloak.  
  
"The Chief Warlock has an innate ability to read minds. Wizards call it Legilimency. It's the reason you're learning Occlumency, remember?"  
  
"He can read my mind!?" Harry gasped softly, though his thoughts were much louder, and that brought up a bigger concern. "Is he reading it _now!?_ "  
  
"No, no, only with eye contact." Severus chuckled. "That's why I had to get you to look away."  
  
"I hope he didn't get anything important out of me." Harry scowled. "It should be illegal, a violation of privacy like that."  
  
"It is, but that sort of talent is understandably hard to regulate and enforce." Severus grimaced. "The only way to protect yourself is to learn Occlumency. Luckily, you would have _certainly_ noticed if the Chief Warlock tried to search your memories. He merely skimmed your surface thoughts."  
  
"Good," Harry frowned. "Then he knows how much I hate him."  
  
Severus simply smirked, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Don't look at me like that, Uncle Sev, I saw the way you were looking at him. You looked like you'd seen a ghost." Harry muttered. " _He's_ the reason I was locked in a cupboard my whole life."   
  
Madam Longbottom looked at him then, from the corner of her eye, with a muted look of horror, as if she hadn't known that detail just yet. Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and hugged his shoulders. On the eve of his freedom, the last thing he wanted was pity.  
  
"There's the Patil family box." Neville explained, pulling Harry aside to point out the family, so that Harry could put faces to the names. There were two pretty girls, identical twins, and about their own age.  
  
"They immigrated a good while ago, during the height of British imperialism." Neville continued his explanation. "They aren't on the Sacred Twenty Eight, but it was written before they came to Britain, and most families generally accept them as purebloods."  
  
Harry glanced over the edge of the box, and caught the eye of one of the twins. Embarrassed, he leaned back into the safety of the enclosure and blushed.  
  
"Do children usually accompany their parents to Wizengamot meetings?" The boy asked, to cover up his nerves, which were frayed from meeting new people and the anticipation of the ruling.  
  
"I don't _think_ so. Gran brings me often, now that I'm about to be eleven, but it's because I'm the heir of the house while Dad is..." Neville swallowed and glanced away.  
  
"While your dad is away." Harry completed the thought, and his friend smiled.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The sound of a banging gavel brought them from their whispered conversation, and back into the real world.  
  
"Attention! Might I have your attention please," the Chief Warlock asked, in a tone that was more of a command. "I hereby call to bring this session of the Wizengamot into order."  
  
A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd, and then it died away in a quiet hush, like the tide going out to sea.  
  
And Harry set his shoulders against the waves.


End file.
